l 


'V 


?%7i;e'>  ")t^^h  ^< 


•-^      -  ■  l/j     ^\      \    /\ 


FROM   THE   LIBRARY  OF 

REV.   LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON.  D.  D. 

BEQUEATHED    BY   HIM   TO 

THE   LIBRARY  OF 

PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


Sectloa 


/ 


Qui  et   H 


A  COLLECTION  OF  POEMS, 


iFirst  Series. 


•*  Drop  Thy  still  dews  of  quietness, 

Till  all  our  strivings  cease; 

Take  from  our  souls  the  strain  and  stress, 

And  let  our  ordered  lives  confess 

The  beauty  of  Thy  peace." 

J.  G.  Whittier. 


BOSTON: 
ROBERTS  BROTHERS. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1874,  by 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS, 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


University  Press  : 
John  Wilson  &  Son,  Cambridge. 


P  R  E  F  A  C  ?:. 


In  preparing  this  volume,  the  compiler  has  been 
careful  not  to  change  the  author's  language  in 
any  case.  Omissions,  however,  have  been  made 
as  seemed  desirable ;  and  the  poems  thus  abbre- 
viated are  indicated,  in  the  Index  of  First  Lines, 
by  asterisks.  In  some  cases,  the  compiler  has 
been  favored  with  the  latest  corrections  of  the 
author,  which  will  account  for  some  variations 
from  the  current  versions. 

For  permission  to  use  copyrighted  poems, 
acknowledgments  are  due  to  Messrs.  J.  R.  Os- 
good &  Co.,  Hurd  &  Houghton,  E.  P.  Dutton  & 
Co.,  and  Henry  Holt  &  Co.  The  compiler  wishes 
to  express  her  thanks,  also,  to  the  authors  who  have 
kindly  permitted  the  use  of  their  poems. 


CONTENTS. 


NATURE. 


Hymn  of  Nature John  A  tisiin  ,    , 

Silent  Praise Charles  Turner 

Extract  from  ** The  Excursion" W.  Wordsworth 

From  **  Frost  at  Midniglu  " ^.  T.Coleridge. 

Eventide T.  Burbidge .     . 

The  Lattice  at  Sunrise C  Tiir7ier      ,     , 

A  Summer  Night Mattheiv  Arnold 

To  a  Waterfowl W.  C.  Bryant    . 

The  Sandpiper Celia  Thaxter    . 

Hymn  of  a  Hermit yoh7i  Sterling    . 

The  Bird Hejiry  Vaiighan 

My  Doves E.  B.  Browning. 

To  a  Snowdrop  found  in  February     ....  Anon     .... 

The  Violet Jones  Very     .     . 

The  Daisy T.  Biirbidge  .    . 

The  Daffodils IV.  Wordsworth 

The  Rhodora R.  W.  Evierso^t 

.The  Evening  Primrose C.  F.  Cranch      . 

The  Golden  Sunset S.  Longfellow    . 

Calm T.  W.  Higginson 

The  Forest  Glade C.  Turner      .     . 

Sunday  on  the  Hill-Top W.  C.  GanTteti  . 

Lines.     Tintem  Abbey W.  Wordsworth 

Rain  after  Drought J.  W.  Chadwick 

The  Fly's  Lecture C.  Turrier      .     . 

Each  and  All R.  W.  Emerson 


VI 


CONTENTS, 


MORNING  AND   EVENING. 

Morning John  Keble    . 

Lux  ecce  surgit  Aurea      . Lyra  Catkolica 

When  I  awake,  I  am  still  with  Thee    .     .     ,  H.  B.  Stoive  . 

Vespers CM.  Packard 

An  Evening  Hymn George  Wither 

AJ's  Well H.  M.  Kimball 

Midnight  Hymn Anoft     .     .     . 

Evening  Devotion ^.2".  Coleridge 


PAGH 

36 
38 
39 
40 


LIFE   AND   DUTY. 

Ode  to  Duty W.  Wordsworth    .     .  45 

Extract  from  "St.  Matthew's  Day"  .     .     .  John  Keble    ....  47 

Flowers  without  Fruit .....          .     .  J.  H.  Reivman  ...  48 

He  remembereth  we  are  Dust  .     .          .     .  J.  G.  Whittier  ...  48 

My  Times  are  in  Thy  Hand A.  L.  Waring  ...  49 

From  "  My  Soul  and  I "      ......  J.  G.  Whittier  ,    .     .  51 

The  Straight  Road Disciple^  Hymn-Book  53 

Semita  Justorum J.  H,  Newjnan  .     .     •  53 

Beauty  and  Duty Disciples?  Hym.n-Book  54 

Sonnet  on  his  Blindness John  Milton  ....  54 

The  Right  must  win F.  W.  Faber,     ...  55 

Morality Matthew  Arnold     .    ,  5O 

Say  not  the  Struggle  Nought  availeth  .     .  A.  H.  Clough     .    .    •  57 

The  Seed  growing  secretly H.  Vaughan  ....  58 


THE   MYSTERY   OF   LIFE. 

Spinning    • .     .    .     .  H.  H. 59 

Through  a  Glass  darkly A.  H.  Clough     .    •    .  60 

Days R'  W.  Emerson     %    .  62 

Human  Life Aubrey  de  Vere      .     .  62 

The  Stream  of  Life A.  H.  Clough     ...  63 

Mason-Lodge J.  W,  von  Goethe  •    .  64 

Stanzas C.  P.  Cranch      ...  65 

The  Problem R.W.Emerson     .     .  66 

Thalatta .....  Brownlee  Brown    .     .  68 

Qua  Cursum  Ventus    ...  ,    ,    ,    ,  A,  H.  Claugh     ...  69 


CONTENTS  vn 


INWARD   STRIFE. 

PAGE 

In  the  Field Hymns  of  the  Church  Militant  71 

Only  one  Stc[) The  Olive  Leaf    .  72 

Under  the  Cross JV.  C.  B.       ...  73 

Under  the  Cloud Charles  G.  Atnes  .  74 

No  more  Sea Eliza  Scudder  .     ,  75 

Desire   ....          Matthew  A  rtiold  .  76 

Denial A  una  C  Brackett  79 

Call  on  Us A.  H.  Clough  .     .  80 

With  whom  is  no  Variableness A.  H.  Clough  .     .  81 

Tranquillity 6" 81 

In  a  Lecture-Room A.  H.  Clough  .     .  83 


PRAYER  AND  ASPIRATION. 

Listening  for  God W.  C.  Gannett 

The  Prayer Jones  Very  .     . 

Whom  but  Thee Eliza  Scjidder 

The  Pillar  of  the  Cloud J.  H.  Newman 

Qui  Laborat,  Orat A,  H   Clough  . 

For  Divine  Strength S.  Johnson  .     . 

A  Birth-Day  Prayer F.  E.  A  bhot      . 

Prayer E.  D.  Cheney  . 

First-Day  Thoughts J.  G.  Whittier 

Whither  shall  I  go  from  Thy  Spirit    ....  E.  Scudder      , 

TRUST   AND    PEACii. 

Looking  unto  God S.  Longfellow  . 

Gratefulnesse      .     .     , G.  Herbert   .     . 

The  Son Jones  Very  .     . 

AU's  Well D.A,  Wasson  . 

Blest  be  Thy  Love John  Austin     . 

Sacred  Joy H.  Vaughan     . 

The  Secret  of  Content Panl  Gerliardt 


At  Sea .     .     .     J.  T.  Trowbridge    105 


My  Psalm J.G.  Whittier 

Unseen C.  G.  A  ntes .     . 

From  "  The  Meeting  "         J.  G.  Whittle^ 


85 

86 
87 


90 

91 
92 
93 
94 


96 
97 
97 
98 
100 
101 
102 


106 
log 
105 


CONTENTS. 


The  Lord  is  my  Portion A.  L.  Waring 

Seen  and  Unseen    .    • D.  A.  Wasson . 

Letters R.  W.  Emerson 

Hidden  Life C.  G.  Ames.    . 

The  Secret  Place  of  the  Most  High  .     ,     .     .  W.  C.  Gannett 

Reconciled Phoebe  Cary 

A  Song  of  Trust J,  W.  Chadwick 

The  Shadow  and  the  Light J.  G.  Whittier 

Cheerfulness H.  Vaughan    . 

The  Love  of  God E.Saidder,    . 

The  Eternal  Goodness J,  G.  IVkittier 

Hymn  for  the  Mother G.  MacDonald 

The  Will  of  God F.  IV.  Faber    . 

O  vet  we  trust A.  Tennyson    • 

Compensation C.  P»  Crunch 


III 
114 
114 

"5 
116 
118 
120 
121 
122 
1^3 
125 
126 
127 

138 


SUBMISSION. 


Go  not  far  from  me A.L.  War.hig     .  131 

Joy  after  Sorrow Paul  Gerhardt      .  133 

I,  even  I,  am  Hethat  comforteth  you  .     .     .     .  A.  L.  Waring     ,  134 

Sonnet  from  "  Adela  Cathcart " Anon 136 

A  Little  Bird  I  am Madame  Guyon    .  136 

The  Wish  of  To-Day y.  G.  Whittier     .  138 

Rabia Lord  Houghton   .  139 

Made  Perfect  through  Suffering S.  Johnson      .     .  140 

First  Sunday  after  Easter J.  Keble  ....  141 


Rest 


Anon 141 


Love  and  Discipline H.  Vaughan     .     .  142 

Peace  in  Trouble A.H-Francke      .  143 

Rest Euphemia  Saxby  144 

Hymn  for  Sickness Richter    ....  145 

The  Border-Lands Euphemia  Saxby  .  146 

Starlight Mrs,  A  rthur  Cllve  1 48 


DEATH  AND   IMMORTALITY. 

Prayer  and  the  Dead N.  L.  Frothinghain  149 

How  pure  at  heart A.  Tennyson     .     .  150 

Out  of  the  Depths Mary  Howitt   .     .  151 


CONTENTS.  IX 

PAGB 

To  a  Friend W.  C  Roscoe   ...  15a 

To  a  Friend,  after  the  loss  of  a  Child      .     .     M.Lowell    .     •     .     •  153 

The  Child's  Picture F.  E- Abbot      ...  155 

Dirge R.  IV.  Evierson    •     .  157 

Gone y.  G.  Whittier      .     .  159 

The  Gate  of  Heaven Disciples'  Hymn.' Book  1G2 

The  New  Heaven Eliza  Sctidder      .     .  163 

From  "  Andrew  Rykraan's  Prayer "        .     .     J.  G.  VVhittier      .     .  165 

Sonnet  on  Night  and  Death J.  Bla?ico  WJiite  .     .  166 

The  Future E.  R.  Sill  ....  167 

Athanasia C.  G.  Atnts*    •    .     .  16S 

MISCELLANEOUS. 

A  Thanksgiving J.  H.  Newman     ,     .  i6q 

The  Inward  Witness  of  God      ...          .     Anon 170 

Ideals DA    Wass^        .     .  171 


QUIET       HOURS. 


NATURE. 


HYMN    OF   NATURE. 

T  TARK,  my  soul,  how  every  thing 

-^     Strives  to  serve  our  bounteous  King  ; 
Each  a  double  tribute  pays, 
Sings  its  part,  and  then  obeys. 

Nature's  chief  and  sweetest  choir 
Him  with  cheerful  notes  admire  ; 
Chanting  every  day  their  lauds, 
While  the  grove  their  song  applauds. 

Though  their  voices  lower  be. 
Streams  have,  too,  their  melody  ; 
Night  and  day  they  warbling  run, 
Never  pause,  but  still  sing  on. 

All  the  flowers  that  gild  the  spring 
Hither  their  still  music  bring  ; 
If  Heaven  bless  them,  thankful  they 
Smell  more  sweet,  and  look  more  gay. 


QUIET  HOURS, 

Wake,  for  shame,  my  sluggish  heart, 
Wake,  and  gladly  sing  thy  part  \ 
Learn  of  birds,  and  springs,  and  flowers, 
How  to  use  thy  nobler  powers. 

John  Austin,  1668L 

SILENT   PRAISE. 

r^  THOU,  who  givest  to  the  woodland  wren 

^^^     A  throat,  like  to  a  little  light-set  door, 

That  opens  to  his  early  joy,  —  to  men 

The  spirit  of  true  worship,  which  is  more 

Than  all  this  sylvan  rapture  :  what  a  world 

Is  Thine,  O   Lord!  —  skies,  earth,  men,  beasts, 

and  birds  ! 
The  poet  and  the  painter  have  unfurled 
Their  love  and  wonder  in  descriptive  words, 
Or  sprightly  hues,  —  each,  after  his  own  sort. 
Emptying  his  heart  of  its  delicious  hoards  ; 
But  all  self-conscious  blazonry  comes  short 
Of  that  still  sense  no  active  mood  affords. 
Ere  yet  the  brush  is  dipt,  or  uttered  phrase 
Hath  breathed  abroad  those  folds  of  silent  praise  ! 

Charles  Turner 

EXTRACT   FROM    "THE   EXCURSION." 

O  UCH  was  the  boy  —  but  for  the  growing  youth, 
*^     What  soul  was  his,  when,  from  the  naked  top 
Of  some  bold  headland,  he  beheld  the  sun 
Rise  up,  and  bathe  the  world  in  light !    He  looked- 


NA  TURE.  3 

Ocean  and  earth,  the  sohd  frame  of  earth 

And  ocean's  liquid  mass,  beneath  him  lay 

In  gladness  and  deep  joy.    The  clouds  were  touched, 

And  in  their  silent  faces  did  he  read 

Unutterable  love.     Sound  needed  none, 

Nor  any  voice  of  joy  ;  his  spirit  drank 

The  spectacle  :  sensation,  soul,  and  form 

All  melted  into  him  ;  they  swallowed  up 

His  animal  being ;  in  them  did  he  live, 

And  by  them  did  he  live  ;  they  were  his  life. 

In  such  access  of  mind,  in  such  high  hour 

Of  visitation  from  the  living  God, 

Thought  was  not ;  in  enjoyment  it  expired. 

No  thanks  he  breathed,  he  proffered  no  request ; 

Rapt  into  still  communion  that  transcends 

The  imperfect  offices  of  prayer  and  praise. 

His  mind  was  a  thanksgiving  to  the  power 

That  made  him  ;  it  was  blessedness  and  love  ! 

William  Wordsworth. 


FROM   "FROST  AT   MIDNIGHT." 

ipvEAR  babe,  that  sleepest  cradled  by  my  side, 
^^     Whose  gentle  breathings,  heard  in  this  deep 

calm, 
Fill  up  the  interspersed  vacancies 
And  momentary  pauses  of  the  thought ! 
My  babe  so  beautiful  !  it  thrills  my  heart 


QUIET  HOURS. 

Wfth  tender  gladness,  thus  to  look  at  thee, 
And  think  that  thou  shalt  learn  far  other  lore 
And  in  far  other  scenes  !     For  I  was  reared 
In  the  great  city,  pent  'mid  cloisters  dim. 
And  saw  nought  lovely  but  the  sky  and  stars. 
But  thou,  my  babe  !  sh  ilt  wander  hke  a  breeze 
By  lakes  and  sandy  shores,  beneath  the  crags 
Of  ancient  mountains,  and  beneath  the  clouds, 
Which  image  in  their  bulk  both  lakes  and  shores 
And  mountain  crags  :  so  shalt  thou  see  and  hear 
The  lovely  shapes  and  sounds  intelligible 
Of  that  eternal  language,  which  thy  God 
Utters,  who  from  eternity  doth  teach 
Himself  in  all,  and  all  things  in  himself. 
Great  universal  Teacher  !  he  shall  mould 
Thy  spirit,  and  by  giving  make  it  ask. 

Samuel  Taylor  Colbkidgb. 


EVENTIDE. 

/^^OMES  something  down  wdth  eventide, 
^^     Beside  the  sunset's  golden  bars. 
Beside  the  floating  scents,  beside 
The  twinkling  shadows  of  the  stars. 

Upon  the  river's  rippling  face, 

Flash  after  flash,  the  white 
Broke  up  in  many  a  shallow  place  ; 

The  rest  was  soft  and  bright. 


NA  ruRE.  5 

By  chance  my  eye  fell  on  the  stream  : 

How  many  a  marvellous  power 
Sleeps  in  us  —  sleeps,  and  doth  not  dream  ! 

This  knew  I  in  that  hour. 

For  then  my  heart,  so  full  of  strife, 

No  more  was  in  me  stirred ; 
My  life  was  in  the  river's  life, 

And  I  nor  saw  nor  heard. 

I  and  the  river,  we  were  one  : 

The  shade  beneath  the  bank, 
I  felt  it  cool ;  the  setting  sun 

Into  my  spirit  sank. 

A  rushing  thing  in  power  serene 

I  was  ;  the  mystery 
I  felt  of  having  ever  been, 

And  being  still  to  be. 

Was  it  a  moment  or  an  hour  ? 

I  know  not ;  but  I  mourned 
When,  from  that  realm  of  awful  power, 

I  to  these  fields  returned. 

Thomas  Buru'.dgb 


QUIET  HOURS. 


THE   LATTICE    AT   SUNRISE. 

A  S  on  my  bed  at  dawn  I  mused  and  prayed, 
•^  ^     I  saw  my  lattice  prankt  upon  the  wall, 
The  flaunting  leaves  and  flitting  birds  withal,  — 
A  sunny  phantom  interlaced  with  shade  ; 
*'  Thanks  be  to  heaven,"  in  happy  mood  I  said, 
"  What  sweeter  aid  my  matins  could  befall 
Than  this  fair  glory  from  the  East  hath  made  ? 
What  holy  sleights  hath  God,  the  Lord  of  all, 
To  bid  us  feel  and  see  !     We  are  not  free 
To  say  we  see  not,  for  the  glory  comes 
Nightly  and  daily,  hke  the  flowing  sea  ; 
His  lustre  pierceth  through  the  midnight  glooms  ; 
And,  at  prime  hour,  behold  !  He  follows  me 
With  golden  shadows  to  my  secret  rooms  !  " 

Charles  Turner. 


A   SUMMER   NIGHT. 

"pLAINNESS  and  clearness  without  shadow  of 

-■■       stain ! 

Clearness  divine  ! 

Ye  Heavens,  whose  pure  dark  regions  have  no  sign 

Of  languor,  though  so  calm,  and  though  so  great, 

Are  yet  untroubled  and  unpassionate  : 

Who  though  so  noble  share  in  the  world's  toil. 

And  though  so  task'd  keep  free  from  dust  and  soil ; 


NA  TURE,  7 

I  will  not  say  that  your  mild  deeps  retain 

A  tinge,  it  may  be,  of  their  silent  pain 

Who  have  long'd  deeply  once,  and  long'd  in  vain  ; 

But  I  will  rather  say  that  you  remain 

A  world  above  man's  head,  to  let  him  see 

How  boundless  might  his  soul's  horizons  be, 

How  vast,  yet  of  what  clear  transparency. 

How  it  were  good  to  sink  there,  and  breathe  free. 

How  fair  a  lot  to  fill 

Ts  left  to  each  man  still. 

Matthew  Arnold 


TO    A   WATERFOWL. 

T17HITHER,  'midst  falHng  dew, 
^  ^       While  glow  the  heavens  with  the  last 
steps  of  day. 
Far,  through  their  rosy  depths,  dost  thou  pursue 
Thy  solitary  way  ? 

Vainly  the  fowler's  eye 
Might  mark  thy  distant  flight  to  do  thee  wrong, 
As,  darkly  seen  against  the  crimson  sky, 

Thy  figure  floats  along. 

Seek'st  thou  the  plashy  brink 
Of  weedy  lake,  or  marge  of  river  wade, 
Or  where  the  rocking  billows  rise  and  s^nV 

On  the  chafed  ocean  side  .'^ 

2 


QUIET  HOURS. 

There  is  a  Power  whose  care 
Teaches  thy  way  along  that  pathless  coast,  — 
The  desert  and  illimitable  air,  — 

Lone  wandering,  but  not  lost. 

All  day  thy  wings  have  fanned. 
At  that  far  height,  the  cold,  thin  atmosphere, 
Yet  stoop  not,  weary,  to  the  welcome  land, 

Though  the  dark  night  is  near. 

And  soon  that  toil  shall  end  ; 
Soon  shalt  thou  find  a  summer  home,  and  rest, 
And  scream  among  thy  fellows  :  reeds  shall  bendi 

Soon,  o'er  thy  sheltered  nest. 

Thou'rt  gone,  the  abyss  of  heaven 
Hath  swallowed  up  thy  form ;  yet  on  my  heart 
Deeply  hath  sunk  the  lesson  thou  hast  given, 

And  shall  not  soon  depart. 

He  who,  from  zone  to  zone, 
Guides  through  the  boundless  sky  thy  certain  flight, 
In  the  long  way  that  I  must  tread  alone 

Will  lead  my  steps  aright. 

William  C.  Bryant. 


THE    SANDPIPER. 


A  CROSS  the  narrow  beach  we  flit, 
■^  ^     One  little  sandpiper  and  I, 
And  fast  I  gather,  bit  by  bit, 

The  scattered  drift-wood,  bleached  and  dry 


NA  TURE.  9 

The  wild  waves  reach  tlieir  hands  for  it, 
The  wild  wind  raves,  the  tide  runs  high, 

As  up  and  down  the  beach  we  flit. 
One  little  sandpiper  and  I. 

Above  our  heads  the  sullen  clouds 

Scud,  black  and  swift,  across  the  sky  ; 
Like  silent  ghosts  in  misty  shrouds 

Stand  out  the  white  light-houses  high. 
Almost  as  far  as  eye  can  reach 

I  see  the  close-reefed  vessels  fly. 
As  fast  we  flit  along  the  beach. 

One  little  sandpiper  and  I. 

I  watch  him  as  he  skims  along. 

Uttering  his  sweet  and  mournful  cry  ; 
He  starts  not  at  my  fitful  song. 

Nor  flash  of  fluttering  drapery. 
He  has  no  thought  of  any  wrong, 

He  scans  me  with  a  fearless  eye  ; 
Stanch  friends  are  we,  well  tried  and  strong. 

The  little  sandpiper  and  I. 

Comrade,  where  wilt  thou  be  to-night. 

When  the  loosed  storm  breaks  furiously  ? 
My  drift-wood  fire  will  burn  so  bright ! 

To  what  warm  shelter  canst  thou  fly  I 
I  do  not  fear  for  thee,  though  wroth 

The  tempest  rushes  through  the  sky  ; 
For  are  we  not  God's  children  both. 

Thou,  little  sandpiper,  and  I  ? 

CeLIA   Ti    '.XI  Kit 


QUIET  HOURS. 


HYMN    OF   A    HERMIT. 

/^   UNSEEN  Spirit !  now  a  calm  divine 

^-^      Comes  forth  from  Thee,  rejoicing  earth  and 

air  ! 
Trees,  hills,  and  houses,  all  distinctly  shine, 
And  Thy  great  ocean  slumbers  everywhere. 

The  mountain  ridge  against  the  purple  sky 

Stands   clear  and  strong  with  darkened  rocks  and 
dells, 

And  cloudless  brightness  opens  wide  on  high 
A  home  aerial,  where  Thy  presence  dwells. 

The  chime  of  bells  remote,  the  murmuring  sea, 
The  song  of  birds  in  whispering  copse  and  wood, 

The  distant  voice  of  children's  thoughtless  glee, 
And  maiden's  song,  are  all  one  voice  of  good. 

Amid  the  leaves'  green  mass  a  sunny  play 
Of  flash,  and  shadow,  stirs  like  inward  life  ; 

The  ship's  white  sail  glides  onward  far  away, 
Unhaunted  by  a  thought  of  storm  or  strife. 

Upon  the  narrow  bridge  of  foot-worn  plank. 

The  peasant  stops  where  swift  the  waters  gleam, 

And  broods  as  if  his  heart  in  silence  drank 

More  freshing  draughts  than  that  untainted  stream. 


NATURE.  II 

The  cottage  roof,  the  burn,  the  spire,  the  graves, 
All  quaff  the  rest  of  seasons  hushed  as  this, 

And  earth  enjoys,  while  scarce  its  foliage  waves, 
The  deep  repose  and  harmony  of  bliss. 

O  Thou,  the  primal  fount  of  life  and  peace, 
Who  shedd'st  Thy  breathing  quiet  all  around. 

In  me  command  that  pain  and  conflict  cease. 
And  turn  to  music  every  jarring  sound. 

How  longs  each  gulf  within  the  weary  soul 
To  taste  the  life  of  this  benignant  hour, 

To  be  at  one  with  Thine  untroubled  whole. 
And  in  itself  to  know  Thy  hushing  power. 

Amid  the  joys  of  all,  my  grief  revives, 

And  shadows  thrown  from  me  Thy  sunshine  mar ; 
With  this  serene  to-day  dark  memory  strives. 

And  draws  its  legions  of  dismay  from  far. 

Prepare,   O  Truth  Supreme !    through   shame   and 
pain, 

A  heart  attuned  to  Thy  celestial  calm ; 
Let  not  reflection's  pangs  be  roused  in  vain. 

But  heal  the  wounded  breast  with  searching  balm. 

So,  firm  in  steadfast  hope,  in  thought  secure, 
In  full  accord  to  all  Thy  world  of  joy, 

May  1  be  nerved  to  labors  high  and  pure. 
And  Thou  Thy  child  to  do  Thy  work  employ. 


12  QUIET  HOURS, 

In  one,  who  walked  on  earth  a  man  of  woe, 
Was  holier  peace  than  even  this  hour  inspires  ; 

From  him  to  m.e  let  inward  quiet  flow, 

And  give  the  might  my  failing  will  requires. 

So  this  great  All  around,  so  he,  and  Thou, 

The  central  source  and  awful  bound  of  things. 

May  fill  my  heart  with  rest  as  deep  as  now 

To  land,  and  sea,  and  air,  Thy  presence  brings. 

John  Sterling. 


THE    BIRD. 

T_J  ITHER  thou  com'st.     The  busie  wind  all  night 
Blew  through  thy  lodging,    where   thy   own 
warm  wing 
Thy  pillow  was.     Many  a  sullen  storm, 
For  which  coarse  man  seems  much  the  fitter  born, 
Rain'd  on  thy  bed 
And  harmless  head  ; 

And  now,  as  fresh  and  chearful  as  the  light, 
Thy  little  heart  in  early  hymns  doth  sing 
Unto  that  Providence  whose  unseen  arm 
Curb'd  them,  and  cloath'd  thee  well  and  warm. 
All  things  that  be  praise  Him  ;  and  had 
Their  lesson  taught  them  when  first  made. 

Henry  Vaugmak 


NA  TURE.  13 

MY    DOVES. 

"  O  Weisheit !     Du  red'st  wie  eine  Taube!  " —  Goethe. 

"\  TY  little  doves  have  left  a  nest 

^^ ^     Upon  an  Indian  tree, 

Whose  leaves  fantastic  take  their  rest 

Or  motion  from  the  sea ; 
For,  ever  there,  the  sea-winds  go 
With  sunlit  paces  to  and  fro. 

The  tropic  flowers  looked  up  to  it, 

The  tropic  stars  looked  down. 
And  there  my  little  doves  did  sit. 

With  feathers  softly  brown. 
And  glittering  eyes  that  showed  their  right 
To  general  Nature's  deep  delight. 

And  God  them  taught,  at  every  close 

Of  murmuring  waves  beyond. 
And  green  leaves  round,  to  interpose 

Their  choral  voices  fond. 
Interpreting  that  love  must  be 
The  meaning  of  the  earth  and  sea. 

Fit  ministers  !  of  living  loves 
Theirs  hath  the  calmest  fashion, 

Their  living  voice  the  likest  moves 
To  lifeless  intonation. 

The  lovely  monotone  of  springs, 

And  winds,  and  such  insensate  things. 


14  QUIET  HOURS. 

My  little  doves  were  ta'en  away 
From  that  glad  nest  of  theirs, 

Across  an  ocean  rolling  gray, 
And  tempest-clouded  airs. 

My  little  doves,  — who  lately  knew 

The  sky  and  wave  by  warmth  and  blue  ! 

And  now,  within  the  city  prison. 
In  mist  and  chillness  pent, 

With  sudden  upward  look  they  listen 
For  sounds  of  past  content,  — 

For  lapse  of  water,  swell  of  breeze, 
Or  nut-fruit  falling  from  the  trees. 

The  stir  without  the  glow  of  passion. 

The  triumph  of  the  mart. 
The  gold  and  silver  as  they  clash  on 

Man's  cold  metallic  heart, 
The  roar  of  wheels,  the  cry  for  bread, 
These  only  sounds  are  heard  instead. 

Yet  still,  as  on  my  human  hand 
Their  fearless  heads  they  lean, 

And  almost  seem  to  understand 
What  human  musings  mean, 

(Their  eyes,  with  such  a  plaintive  shine, 

Are  fastened  upwardly  to  mine  !) 

Soft  falls  their  chant  as  on  the  nest 

Beneath  the  sunny  zone  ; 
For  love  that  stirred  it  in  their  breast 

Has  not  aweary  grown, 


NATURE.  15 

And  'neath  the  city's  shade  can  keep 
The  well  of  music  clear  and  deep. 

And  love,  that  keeps  the  music,  fills 

With  pastoral  memories  ; 
All  echoings  from  out  the  hills, 

All  droppings  from  the  skies, 
All  flowings  from  the  wave  and  wind, 
Remembered  in  their  chant,  I  find. 

So  teach  ye  me  the  wisest  part, 

My  little  doves  !  to  move 
Along  the  city-ways  with  heart 

Assured  by  holy  love, 
And  vocal  with  such  songs  as  own 
A  fountain  to  the  world  unknown. 

'Twas  hard  to  sing  by  BabeFs  stream,    - 

More  hard,  in  Babel's  street ! 
But  if  the  soulless  creatures  deem 

Their  music  not  unmeet 
For  sunless  walls,  let  tis  begin, 
Who  wear  immortal  wings  within  ! 

To  me,  fair  memories  belong 

Of  scenes  that  used  to  bless, 
For  no  regret,  but  present  song, 

And  lasting  thankfulness, 
And  very  soon  to  break  away. 
Like  types,  in  purer  things  than  thev 


l6  QUIET  HOURS. 

I  will  have  hopes  that  cannot  fade, 
For  flowers  the  valley  yields  ! 

I  will  have  humble  thoughts  instead 
Of  silent,  dewy  fields  ! 

My  spirit  and  my  God  shall  be 

My  sea-ward  hill,  my  boundless  sea. 


E.  B.  Brown  iNfl 


TO  A  SNOWDROP  FOUND  IN  FEBRUARY. 

T   KNOW  not  what  among  the  grass  thou  an, 

-*      Thy  nature,  nor  thy  substance,  fairest  flower, 
Nor  what  to  other  eyes  thou  hast  of  power 

To  send  thine  image  through  them  to  the  heart ; 

B':t  when  I  push  the  frosty  leaves  apart. 
And  see  thee  hiding  in  thy  wintry  bower, 
Thou  growest  up  within  me  from  that  hour, 

And  through  the  snow  I  with  the  spring  depart. 

I  have  no  words.     But  fragrant  is  the  breath, 
Pale  Beauty,  of  thy  second  life  within. 

There  is  a  wind  that  cometh  for  thy  death. 
But  thou  a  life  immortal  dost  begin, 

Wheie,  in  one  soul,  which  is  thy  heaven,  shall 
dwell 

Thy  spirit,  beautiful  Unspeakable  ! 

Anon.     From  "  The  Seaboard  Parishy 


NATURE,  r? 


THE   VIOLET 

"  I  ^HOU  tellest  truths  unspoken  yet  by  man, 

^       By  this  thy  lonely  home  and  modest  loolc  ; 
For  he  has  not  the  eyes  such  truths  to  scan, 
Nor  learns  to  read  from  such  a  lowly  book. 
With  him  it  is  not  Hfe  firm- fixed  to  grow 
Beneath  the  outspreading  oaks  and  rising  pines, 
Content  this  humble  lot  of  thine  to  know. 
The  nearest  neighbor  of  the  creeping  vines  ; 
Withor.t  fixed  root  he  cannot  trust  like  thee 
The  rain  will  know  the  appointed  hour  to  fall, 
But  fears  lest  sun  or  shower  may  hurtful  be, 
And  would  delay,  or  speed  them  with  his  call ; 
Nor  trust  like  thee,  when  wintry  winds  blow  cold, 
Whose  shrinking  form  the  withered  leaves  enfold. 

JoNKS  Very 


THE   DAISY. 

"T^ACH  hath  its  place  in  the  Eternal  Plan : 
■"^-^     Heaven  whispers  wisdom   to   the  wayside 

flower. 
Bidding  it  use  its  own  peculiar  dower, 
And  bloom  its  best  within  its  little  span. 
We  must  each  do,  not  what  we  will,  but  can  ; 
Nor  have  we  duty  to  exceed  our  power. 
To  all  things  are  marked  out  their  place  and  hour: 


^  QUIET  HOURS. 

The  child  must  be  a  child,  the  man  a  man. 
And  surely  He  who  metes,  as  we  should  mete 
Could  we  His  insight  use,  shall  most  approve, 
Not  that  which  fills  most  space  in  earthly  eyes 
But  what  —  though  Time  scarce  note  it  as  he  flies  — 
Fills,  like  this  little  daisy  at  my  feet, 
Its  function  best  of  diligence  in  love. 

Thomas  Burbidge. 

THE    DAFFODILS. 

T  WANDERED  lonely  as  a  cloud 

^     That  floats  on  high  o^er  vales  and  hills, 

When  all  at  once  I  saw  a  crowd, 

A  host  of  golden  daflfodils  ; 

Beside  the  lake,  beneath  the  trees, 

Fluttering  and  dancing  in  the  breeze. 

Continuous  as  the  stars  that  sliine 
And  twinkle  on  the  Milky  Way, 
They  stretched  in  never-ending  line 
Along  the  margin  of  a  bay : 
Ten  thousand  saw  I  at  a  glance. 
Tossing  their  heads  in  sprightly  dance. 

The  waves  beside  them  danced,  but  they 

Outdid  the  sparkling  waves  in  glee  :  — 

A  poet  could  not  but  be  gay, 

In  such  a  jocund  company  : 

I  gazed  — and  gazed  —  but  little  thought 

What  wealth  the  show  to  me  had  brought. 


NATURE.  19 

For  ott,  when  on  my  couch  I  lie 
In  vacant  or  in  pensive  mood, 
They  flash  upon  that  inward  eye 
Which  is  the  bHss  of  soHtude, 
And  then  my  heart  with  pleasure  fills. 
And  dances  with  the  daffodils. 

William  Wordsworth, 


THE    RHODORA: 

On  being  asked,  Whence  is  the  flower? 

f  N  May,  when  sea-winds  pierced  our  solitudes, 

-■-      I  found  the  fresh  Rhodora  in  the  woods, 

Spreading  its  leafless  blooms  in  a  damp  nook, 

To  please  the  desert  and  the  sluggish  brook. 

The  purple  petals,  fallen  in  the  pool, 

Made  the  black  water  with  their  beauty  gay  ; 

Here  might  the  red-bird  come  his  plumes  to  cool, 

And  court  the  flower  that  cheapens  his  array. 

Rhodora  !  if  the  sages  ask  thee  why 

This  charm  is  wasted  on  the  earth  and  sky. 

Tell  them,  dear,  that  if  eyes  were  made  for  seeing, 

Then  Beauty  is  its  own  excuse  for  being : 

Why  thou  wert  there,  O  rival  of  the  rose  ! 

I  never  thought  to  ask,  I  never  knew  ; 

i'ut,  in  my  simple  ignorance,  suppose 

The    self- same    Power   that   brought  me   there 

brought  you. 

R.  Wi  Emerson. 


20  QUIET  HOURS. 


THE    EVENING   PRIMROSE 

"  TT  THAT  are  you  looking  at  ?  "  the  farmer  said; 
^^       *'  That's    nothing   but   a   yellow-flowering 
weed." 
We  turned,  and  saw  our  neighbor's  grizzled  head 
Above  the  fence,  but  took  of  him  no  heed. 

There  stood  the  simple  man,  and  wondered  much 
At  us,  who  wondered  at  the  twilight  flowers 

Bursting  to  Hfe,  as  if  a  spirit's  touch 

Awoke  their  slumbering  souls  to  answer  ours. 

*•  It  grows  all  o'er  the  island,  wild,"  said  he. 

"  There's  plenty  in  my  field.     I  root  'em  out ; 
But,  for  my  life,  it  puzzles  me  to  see 

What  you  make  such  a  wonderment  about." 

The  good  man  turned,  and  to  his  supper  went ; 

While  kneeling  on  the  grass,  with  mute  delight, 
Or  whispered  words,  around  the  plant  we  bent 

To  watch  the  opening  buds  that  love  the  night. 

Slowly  the  rosy  dusk  of  eve  departed. 

And  one  by  one  the  pale  stars  bloomed  on  high  ; 
And  one  by  one  each  folded  calyx  started, 

And  bared  its  golden  petals  to  the  sky. 

One  throb  from  star  to  flower  seemed  pulsing  through 
The  night ;  one  hving  spirit  blending  all 

In  beauty  and  in  mystery  ever  new ; 

One  harmony  divine  through  great  and  small. 


NA  TURK  2 1 

E'en  our  plain  neighbor,  as  he  sips  his  tea, 
I  doubt  not  through  his  window  feels  the  sky 

Of  evening  bring  a  sweet  and  tender  plea 
That  links  him  even  to  dreamers  such  as  1. 

So  through  the  symbol  alphabet  that  glows 
Through  all  creation,  higher  still  and  higher 

The  spirit  builds  its  faith,  and  ever  grows 
Beyond  the  rude  form  of  its  first  desire. 

O  boundless  Beauty  and  Beneficence  ! 

O  deathless  Soul  that  breathest  in  the  weeds, 
And  in  a  starlit  sky  !     E'en  through  the  rents 

Of  accident  thou  serv'st  all  human  needs, 

Nor  stoopest  idly  to  our  petty  cares  : 

Nor  knowest  great  or  small,  since,  folded  in 

By  Universal  Love,  all  being  shares 
The  life  that  ever  shall  be  or  hath  been. 

C.  p.  Cranch- 


THE    GOLDEN    SUNSET. 

'T^HE  golden  sea  its  mirror  spreads 
"*-       Beneath  the  golden  skies, 
And  but  a  narrow  strip  between 
Of  land  and  shadow  lies. 

The  cloud-like  rocks,  the  rock-like  clouds, 

Dissolved  in  glory  float, 
And,  midway  of  the  radiant  flood. 

Hangs  silently  the  boat. 


22  QUIET  HOURS, 

The  sea  is  but  another  sky, 

The  sky  a  sea  as  well, 
And  which  is  earth,  and  which  the  heavens, 

The  eye  can  scarcely  tell. 

So  when  for  us  life's  evening  hour 

Soft  passing  shall  descend, 
May  glory,  born  of  earth  and  heaven. 

The  earth  and  heavens  blend; 

Flooded  with  peace  the  spirit  float. 

With  silent  rapture  glow. 
Till  where  earth  ends  and  heaven  begins 

The  soul  shall  scarcely  know. 

Samuel  Longfei  low. 

CALM. 

'^  I  ^IS  a  dull,  sullen  day,  —  the  gray  beach  o'er 
^       In  rippling  curves  the  ebbing  ocean  flows  ; 

Along  each  tiny  crest  that  nears  the  shore 

A  line  of  soft  green  shadow  rises,  glides,  and  goes. 

The  tide  recedes,  the  flat  smooth  beach  grows  bare, 
More  faint  the  low  sweet  plashing  on  my  ears. 

Yet  still  I  watch  the  dimpling  shadows  fair. 
As  each  is  born,  glides,  pauses,  disappears. 

What  channel  needs  our  faith,  except  the  eyes  ? 

God  leaves  no  spot  of  earth  unglorified ; 
Profuse  and  wasteful,  lovelinesses  rise  ; 

New  beauties  dawn  before  the  old  have  died. 


NA  TURK.  2  ^ 

Trust  thou  thy  joys  in  keeping  of  the  Power 

Who  holds  these  changing  shadows  in  His  hand ; 

F^eHeve  and  live,  and  know  that  hour  by  hour 
Will  ripple  newer  beauty  to  thy  strand. 

Thomas  Wentworth  Higginson 


THE    FOREST   GLADE. 

A  S  one  dark  morn  I  trod  a  forest  glade, 
■^  ^     A  sunbeam  entered  at  the  further  end^ 
And  ran  to  meet  me  thro'  the  yielding  shade, — 
As  one  who  in  the  distance  sees  a  friend, 
And,  smiHng,  hurries  to  him  ;  but  mine  eyes, 
Bewildered  by  the  change  from  dark  to  bright, 
Received  the  greeting  with  a  quick  surprise 
At  first,  and  then  with  tears  of  pure  delight ; 
For  sad  my  thoughts  had  been,  —  the  tempest's 

wrath 
Had  gloomed  the  night,  and  made  the  morrow  grey ; 
That  heavenly  guidance  humble  sorrow  hath, 
Had  turned  my  feet  into  that  forest-way, 
Just  when  His  morning-light  came  down  the  path. 
Among  the  lonely  woods  at  early  day. 

Charles  Turner 

SUNDAY   ON    THE    HILL-TOP. 

/^NLY  ten  miles  from  the  city,  — 
^^     And  how  I  am  lifted  away 
To  the  peace  that  passeth  knowing. 
And  the  light  that  is  not  of  day  -' 


24  QUIET  HOURS. 

All  alone  on  the  hill-top  ! 

Nothing  but  God  and  me, 
And  the  spring-time's  resurrection. 

Far  shinings  of  the  sea, 

The  river's  laugh  in  the  valley. 
Hills  dreaming  of  their  past ; 

And  all  things  silently  opening, 
Opening  into  the  Vast ! 

Eternities  past  and  future 

Seem  chnging  to  all  I  see, 
And  things  immortal  cluster 

Around  my  bended  knee. 

That  pebble  —  is  older  than  Adam  ! 

Secrets  it  hath  to  tell  ; 
These  rocks  — they  cry  out  history, 

Could  I  but  listen  well. 

That  pool  knows  the  ocean-feeling 
Of  storm  and  moon-led  tide  ; 

The  sun  finds  its  East  and  West  thereia^ 
And  the  stars  find  room  to  glide. 

That  lichen's  crinkled  circle 

Still  creeps  with  the  Life  Divine, 

Where  the  Holy  Spirit  loitered 
On  its  way  to  this  face  of  mine, — 

On  its  way  to  the  shining  faces 
Where  angel-lives  are  led  ; 

And  /  am  the  lichen's  circle 
That  creeps  vUh  tiny  tread. 


NA  TURE.  25 

I  can  hear  these  violets  chorus 
To  the  sky's  benediction  above  ; 

And  we  all  are  together  lying 
On  the  bosom  of  Infinite  Love. 

I  —  I  am  a  part  of  the  poem, 

Of  its  every  sight  and  sound, 
For  my  heart  beats  inward  rhymings 

To  the  Sabbath  that  lies  around. 

Oh,  the  peace  at  the  heart  of  Nature  ! 

Oh,  the  light  that  is  not  of  day  ! 
Why  seek  it  afar  for  ever. 

When  it  cannot  be  lifted  away  ? 

W.  C.  Gannett 
Blue  Hill,  May  21,  1871. 


LINES 

Composed  a  few  miles  above  Tintem  Abbey,  on  re-visiting  the  banks 
of  the  Wye  during  a  tour,  July  13th,  1798. 

"piVE  years  have  past;  five  summers,  with  the 

■*-  length 

Of  five  long  winters  !  and  again  I  hear 

These  waters,  roUing  from  their  mountain-springs 

With  a  soft  inland  murmur.     Once  again 

Do  I  behold  these  steep  and  lofty  cliffs, 

That  on  a  wild  secluded  scene  impress 

Thoughts  of  more  deep  seclusion,  and  connect 

The  landscape  with  the  quiet  of  the  sky. 


26  QUIET  HOURS. 

The  day  is  come  when  I  again  repose 
Here,  under  this  dark  sycamore,  and  view 
These  plots  of  cottage  ground,  these  orchard-tufts 
Which,  at  this  season,  with  their  unripe  fruits, 
Are  clad  in  one  green  hue,  and  lose  themselves 
'Mid  groves  and  copses.     Once  again  I  see 
These  hedge-rows,  hardly  hedge-rows,  Httle  lines 
Of  sportive  wood  run  wild  :  these  pastoral  farms, 
Green  to  the  very  door ;  and  wreaths  of  smoke 
Sent  up,  in  silence,  from  among  the  trees  ! 
With  some  uncertain  notice,  as  might  seem, 
Of  vagrant  dwellers  in  the  houseless  woods, 
Or  of  some  hermit's  cave,  where,  by  his  fire, 
The  hermit  sits  alone. 

These  beauteous  forms, 
Through  a  long  absence,  have  not  been  to  me 
As  is  a  landscape  to  a  blind  man's  eye  : 
But  oft,  in  lonely  rooms,  and  'mid  the  din 
Of  towns  and  cities,  I  have  owed  to  them. 
In  hours  of  weariness,  sensations  sweet. 
Felt  in  the  blood,  and  felt  along  the  heart ; 
And  passing  even  into  my  purer  mind. 
With  tranquil  restoration  :  —  feehngs  too 
Of  unremembered  pleasure  :  such,  perhaps, 
As  have  no  slight  or  trivial  influence 
On  that  best  portion  of  a  good  man's  life. 
His  little,  nameless,  unremembered  acts 
Of  kindness  and  of  love.     Nor  less,  I  trust. 
To  them  I  may  have  owed  another  gift. 
Of  aspect  more  sublime  ;  that  blessed  mood. 
In  which  the  burden  of  the  mystery, 


NATURE.  27 

In  which  the  heavy  and  the  weary  weight 

Of  all  this  unintelligible  world, 

Is  lightened  :  —  that  serene  and  blessed  mood, 

In  which  the  affections  gently  lead  us  on,  — 

Until,  the  breath  of  this  corporeal  fiame 

And  even  the  motion  of  our  human  blood 

Almost  suspended,  we  are  laid  asleep 

In  body,  and  become  a  living  soul : 

While  with  an  eye  made  quiet  by  the  power 

Of  harmony,  and  the  deep  power  of  joy, 

We  see  into  the  life  of  things. 

If  this 
Be  but  a  vain  belief,  yet,  oh  !  how  oft  — 
In  darkness  and  amid  the  many  shapes 
Of  joyless  daylight ;  when  the  fretful  stir 
Unprofitable,  and  the  fever  of  the  world, 
Have  hung  upon  the  beatings  of  my  heart  — 
How  oft,  in  spirit,  have  I  turned  to  thee, 

0  sylvan  Wye  !  thou  wanderer  thro'  the  woods, 
How  often  has  my  spirit  turned  to  thee  ! 

And  now,  w^ith  gleams  of  half-extinguished  thouglit, 
With  many  recognitions  dim  and  faint, 
And  somewhat  of  a  sad  perplexity, 
The  picture  of  the  mind  revives  again  : 
While  here  I  stand,  not  only  with  the  sense 
Of  present  pleasure,  but  with  pleasing  thoughts 
That  in  this  moment  there  is  life  and  food 
For  future  years.     And  so  I  dare  to  hope, 
Though  changed,  no  doubt,  from  what  I  was  when 
first 

1  came  among  these  hills  ;  w^hen,  like  a  roe. 


28  QUIET  HOURS. 

I  bounded  o'er  the  mountains,  by  the  sides 

Of  the  deep  rivers,  and  the  lonely  streams, 

Wherever  Nature  led  :   more  like  a  man 

Flying  from  something  that  he  dreads,  than  one 

Who  sought  the  thing  he  loved.     For  Nature  then 

(The  coarser  pleasures  of  my  boyish  days, 

And  their  glad  animal  movements  all  gone  by) 

To  me  was  all  in  all.     I  cannot  paint 

What  then  I  was.     The  sounding  cataract 

Haunted  me  like  a  passion  :  the  tall  rock, 

The  mountain,  and  the  deep  and  gloomy  wood, 

Their  colors  and  their  forms,  were  then  to  me 

An  appetite  ;  a  feeling  and  a  love, 

That  had  no  need  of  a  remoter  charm. 

By  thought  supplied,  nor  any  interest 

Unborrowed  from  the  eye.  —  That  time  is  past. 

And  all  its  aching  joys  are  now  no  more. 

And  all  its  dizzy  raptures.     Not  for  this 

Faint  I,  nor  mourn,  nor  murmur  ;  other  gifts 

Have  followed  ;  for  such  loss,  I  would  beheve, 

Abundant  recompense.     For  I  have  learned 

To  look  on  Nature,  not  as  in  the  hour 

Of  thoughtless  youth  ;  but  hearing  oftentimes 

The  still,  sad  music  of  humanity, 

Nor  harsh,  nor  grating,  though  of  ample  power 

To  chasten  and  subdue.     And  I  have  felt 

A  presence  that  disturbs  me  with  the  joy 

Of  elevated  thoughts  ;  a  sense  sublime 

Of  something  far  more  deeply  interfused. 

Whose  dwelling  is  the  light  of  setting  suns. 

And  the  round  ocean  and  the  living  air, 


NA  TURE,  ^9 

And  the  blue  sky,  and  in  the  mind  of  man . 
A  motion  and  a  spirit  that  impels 
All  thinking  things,  all  objects  of  all  thought, 
And  rolls  through  all  things.    Therefore  am  I  still 
A  lover  of  the  meadows  and  the  woods, 
And  mountains  ;  and  of  all  that  we  behold 
From  this  green  earth  ;  of  all  the  mighty  world 
Of  eye,  and  ear, — both  what  they  half  create, 
And  what  perceive ;  well  pleased  to  recognize 
In  Nature  and  the  language  of  the  sense, 
The  anchor  of  my  purest  thoughts,  the  nurse, 
The  guide,  the  guardian  of  my  heart,  and  soul 
Of  all  my  moral  being. 

Nor,  perchance, 
If  I  were  not  thus  taught,  should  I  the  more 
Suffer  my  genial  spirits  to  decay  : 
For  thou  art  with  me  here  upon  the  banks 
Of  this  fair  river  ;  thou,  my  dearest  friend, 
My  dear,  dear  friend  ;  and  in  thy  voice  I  catch 
The  language  of  my  former  heart,  and  read 
My  former  pleasures  in  the  shooting  lights 
Of  thy  wild  eyes.     Oh  !  yet  a  httle  while 
May  I  behold  in  thee  what  I  was  once, 
My  dear,  dear  sister !  and  this  prayer  I  make, 
Knowing  that  Nature  never  did  betray 
The  heart  that  loved  her  ;  'tis  her  privilege, 
Through  all  the  years  of  this  our  life,  to  lead 
From  joy  to  joy  ;  for  she  can  so  inform 
The  mind  that  is  within  us,  so  impress 
With  quietness  and  beauty,  and  so  feed 
With  lofty  thoughts,  that  neither  evil  tongues. 
Rash  judgments,  nor  the  sneers  of  selfish  men, 


30  QUIET  HOURS, 

Nor  greetings  where  no  kindness  is,  nor  all 

The  dreary  intercourse  of  daily  life, 

Shall  e'er  prevail  against  us,  or  disturb 

Our  cheerful  faith,  that  iM  which  we  behold 

Is  full  of  blessings.     Therefore  let  the  moon 

Shine  on  thee  in  thy  solitary  walk  ; 

And  let  the  misty  mountain-winds  be  free 

To  blow  against  thee  :  and,  In  after  years, 

When  these  wild  ecstasies  shall  be  matured 

Into  a  sober  pleasure;  when  thy  mind 

Shall  be  a  mansion  for  all  lovely  forms, 

Thy  memory  be  as  a  dwelling-place 

For  all  sweet  sounds  and  harmonies  ;  oh  !  then 

If  solitude,  or  fear,  or  pain,  or  grief, 

Should  be  thy  portion,  with  what  healing  thouglUs 

Of  tender  joy  wilt  thou  remember  me, 

And  these  my  exhortations  !     Nor,  perchance, 

If  I  should  be  where  I  no  more  can  hear 

Thy  voice,  nor   catch  from   thy  wild  eyes  these 

gleams 
Of  past  existence,  —  wilt  thou  then  forget 
That  on  the  banks  of  this  dehghtful  stream 
We  stood  together ;  and  that  I,  so  long 
A  worshipper  of  Nature,  hither  came. 
Unwearied  in  that  service  :  rather  say 
With  warmer  love,  —  oh  !  with  far  deeper  zeaj 
Of  hoher  love.     Nor  wilt  thou  then  forget. 
That  after  many  wanderings,  many  years 
Of  absence,  these  steep  woods  and  lofty  cliffs. 
And  this  green  pastoral  landscape,  were  to  me 
More  dear,  both  for  themselves  and  for  thy  sake  ! 

William  Wordsvvofth 


Nature.  .v 


RAIN   AFTER  DROUGHT. 

A    FEW  short  hours  ago,  and  all  the  land 
-^  ^     Lay,  as  in  fever,  faint  and  parched  with 

drought ; 
And  so  had  lain,  while  many  a  weary  day 
Dragged  the  long  horror  of  its  minutes  out. 

The  juiceless  fruits  fell  from  the  dusty  trees  ; 

The  farmer  doubted  if  the  Lord  w^as  good. 
As,  sad,  he  watched  the  labor  of  his  hands, 

Made  useless  by  the  Day-god's  fiery  mood. 

The  hot  streets  sickened  in  the  burning  glare  ; 

The  roadsides  lost  the  glory  of  their  green  ; 
No  second  growth  sprung  up  to  glad  the  eye, 

Where  once  the  mower  with  his  scythe  had  been, 

A  few  short  hours  ago  !     And  now,  behold, 
Freshness  and  beauty  gleam  on  every  side  ; 

The  earth  has  drunk  its  fill,  and  all  about 
The  amber  pools  are  stretching  far  and  wide. 

A  million  drops  are  flashing  in  the  sun  ; 

The  springs  far  down  the  upper  wonder  know  ; 
The  farmer  laughs,  and  litde  cares  how  fast 

Through  his  torn  hat  the  cooling  streamlets  flow 

And  all  the  fields  and  pastures  seem  to  say, 
With  joyous  smile  that  I  shall  ne'er  forget, 

And  all  the  flowers  and  trees  in  chorus  join, 
*'  We  knew  'twould  come  ;  He  never  failed  us 
yet." 


»2  QUIET  HOURS. 

God  of  my  life,  as  God  of  all  beside, 

This    lovely    wonder,    which    thy    hand    hatn 
wrought, 

Quickens  in  thought  the  mercies  manifold 

Which  thy  great  love  into  my  soul  hath  brought. 

For  I  have  lain,  full  oft,  as  hot  and  dry 
As  ever  earth  in  summer's  fiercest  hour; 

And  the  long  days,  slow  creeping  over  me, 
Brought  me  no  tokens  of  thy  gracious  power. 

Then,  at  thy  word,  down  fell  thy  spirit  rain  ; 

I  felt  its  coolness  all  rny  being  through  ; 
Made  fresh  and  clean  and  joyous  every  whit, 

I  heard  the  whisper,  "I  make  all  things  new." 

But  mine,  alas  !  was  not  the  holy  faith 

The  parched  earth  felt  through  all  her  thirsty 
hours  ; 

I  was  in  fear  that  never  more  again 

Should  I  be  quickened  by  the  heavenly  powers. 

So  shall  it  be  no  more  ;  but,  though  I  lie 
For  many  days  as  one  thou  dost  forget, 

Recalling  this  glad  hour,  my  heart  shall  say, 
"  I  know  'twill  come  ;  He  never  failed  me  yet." 

John  W    Chadwioe 


NATURE.  Zl 


THE    FLY'S    LECTURE. 

/^NCE  on  a  time,  when  tempted  to  repine, 

^^     In  yon  green  nook  I  nursed  a  sullen  tlieme, 

A  fly  lit  near  me,  lovelier  than  a  dream, 

With  burnished  plates  of  sight,  and  pennons  fine  : 

His  wondrous  beauty  struck  and  fixt  my  view, 

As,  ere  he  mingled  with  the  shades  of  eve, 

With  silent  feet  he  trod  the  honey-dew, 

In  that  lone  spot,  where  I  had  come  to  grieve: 

And  still,  whene'er  the  hour  of  sorrow  brings, 

Once  more,  the  humors  and  the  doubts  of  grief, 

In  my  mind's  eye,  from  that  moist  forest-leaf 

Once  more  I  see  the  glorious  insect  rise  ! 

My  faith  is  lifted  on  two  gauzy  wings. 

And  served  with  light  by  two  metallic  eyes. 

Charles  Turkbk 


EACH   AND   ALL. 

T    ITTLE  thinks,  in  the  field,  yon  red-cloaked 

-*--'         clown, 

Of  thee  from  the  hill-top  looking  down  ; 

The  heifer  that  lows  in  the  upland  farm, 

Far-heard,  lows  not  thine  ear  to  charm ; 

The  sexton,  tolHng  his  bell  at  noon. 

Deems  not  that  great  Napoleon 

Stops  his  horse,  and  lists  with  delight, 

Whilst  his  files  sweep  round  yon  Alpine  height, 


M  QUIET  HOURS. 

Nor  knowest  thou  what  aro^ument 

Thy  life  to  thy  neighbor's  creed  has  lent. 

All  are  needed  by  each  one ; 

Nothing  is  fair  or  good  alone. 

I  thought  the  sparrow's  note  from  heaven, 

Singing  at  dawn  on  the  alder  bough  ; 

I  brought  him  home,  in  his  nest,  at  even  ; 

He  sings  the  song,  but  it  pleases  not  no^Y, 

For  I  did  not  bring  home  the  river  and  sk)  ;  — 

He  sang  to  my  ear,  — they  sang  to  my  eye. 

The  delicate  shells  lay  on  the  shore; 

The  bubbles  of  the  latest  wave 

Fresh  pearls  to  their  enamel  gave  ; 

And  the  bellowing  of  the  savage  sea 

Greeted  their  safe  escape  to  me. 

I  wiped  away  the  weeds  and  foam, 

I  fetched  my  sea-born  treasures  home  ; 

But  the  poor,  unsightly,  noisome  things 

Had  left  their  beauty  on  the  shore, 

With  the  sun,  and  the  sand,  and  the  wild  uproar 

Then  I  said,  "  I  covet  truth  ; 

Beauty  is  unripe  childhood's  cheat ; 

I  leave  it  behind  with  the  games  of  youth."  — 

As  I  spoke,  beneath  my  feet 

The  ground-pine  curled  its  pretty  wreath, 

Running  over  the  club-moss  burrs  ; 

I  inhaled  the  violet's  breath  ; 

Around  me  stood  the  oaks  and  firs  ; 

Pine-cones  and  acorns  lay  on  the  ground  ; 

Over  me  soared  the  eternal  sky, 


NATURE,  35 

Full  of  light  and  of  deity  ; 

Again  I  saw,  again  I  heard, 

The  rolling  river,  the  morning  bird  ;  — 

Beauty  through  my  senses  stole  ; 

I  yielded  myself  to  the  perfect  whole. 

R.    W.    EMERSOy 


MORNING  AND   EVENING. 


MORNING. 

"His  compassions  fail  not.     They  are  new  every  morning." 

Lam.  iii.  21  a{ 

T  T  UES  of  the  rich  unfolding  morn, 

Tliat,  ere  the  glorious  sun  be  born, 
B}'  some  jsoft  touch  invisible 
Around  his  path  are  taught  to  swell ; 

Thou  rustling  breeze  so  fresh  and  gay, 
That  dancest  forth  at  opening  day, 
And  brushing  by  with  joyous  wing, 
Wakenest  each  httle  leaf  to  sing  ;  — 

Ye  fragrant  clouds  of  dewy  steam, 
By  which  deep  grove  and  tangled  stream 
Pay,  for  soft  rains  in  season  given, 
Their  tribute  to  the  genial  heaven  ;  — 

Why  waste  your  treasures  of  dehght 
Upon  our  thankless,  joyless  sight ; 
Who  day  by  day  to  sin  awake, 
Seldom  of  Heaven  and  you  partake  ? 


MORNING  AND   EVENING,  37 

Oh  !  timely  happy,  timely  wise, 
Hearts  that  with  rising  morn  arise  ! 
Eyes  that  the  beam  celestial  view, 
Which  evermore  makes  all  things  new  i 

New  every  morning  is  the  love 
Our  wakening  and  uprising  prove  ; 
Through  sleep  and  darkness  safely  brought, 
Restored  to  life,  and  power,  and  thought. 

New  mercies,  each  returning  day, 

Hover  around  us  while  we  pray  ; 

New  perils  past,  new  sins  forgiven. 

New  thoughts  of  God,  new  hopes  of  Heaveu* 

If  on  our  daily  course  our  mind 
Be  set  to  hallow  all  we  find. 
New  treasures  still,  of  countless  price, 
God  will  provide  for  sacrifice. 

Old  friends,  old  scenes,  will  lovelier  be, 
As  more  of  Heaven  in  each  we  see  ; 
Some  softening  gleam  of  love  and  prayer 
Shall  dawn  on  every  cross  and  care. 

As  for  some  dear  familiar  strain 
Untired  we  ask,  and  ask  again, 
Ever,  in  its  melodious  store, 
Finding  a  spell  unheard  before  ; 

Such  is  the  bliss  of  souls  serene, 

When  they  have  sworn,  and  steadfast  mcaa 

Counting  the  cost,  in  all  to  espy 

Their  God,  in  all  themselves  deny 


38  QUIET  HOURS, 

O  could  we  learn  that  sacrifice, 
What  lights  would  all  around  us  rise ! 
How  would  our  hearts  with  wisdom  talk 
Along  life's  dullest,  dreariest  walk. 

We  need  not  bid,  for  cloistered  cell, 
Our  neighbor  and  our  work  farewell. 
Nor  strive  to  wind  ourselves  too  high 
For  sinful  man  beneath  the  sky. 

The  trivial  round,  the  common  task, 
Would  furnish  all  we  ought  to  ask ; 
Room  to  deny  ourselves  ;  a  road 
To  bring  us,  daily,  nearer  God. 

Seek  we  no  more ;  content  with  these, 
Let  present  rapture,  comfort,  ease, 
As  Heaven  shall  bid  them,  come  and  go: 
The  secret  this  of  rest  below. 

Only,  O  Lord,  in  Thy  dear  love, 
Fit  us  for  perfect  rest  above  ; 
And  help  us,  this  and  every  day, 
To  live  more  nearly  as  we  pray. 


John  Kbblb 


LUX  ECCE  SURGIT  AUREA. 

IVrOW  with  the  rising,  golden  dawn, 
-^  ^      Let  us,  the  children  of  the  day, 
Cast  off  the  darkness  which  so  long 
Has  led  our  guilty  souls  astray. 


MORNING  AND  EVENING.  39 

O  may  the  morn,  so  pure,  so  clear, 

Its  own  sweet  calm  in  us  instil ; 
A  guileless  mind,  a  heart  sincere, 

Simplicity  of  word  and  will. 

Lyra  Catholica 


'vVHEN   I  AWAKE,  I  AM  STILL  WITH  THEE. 

OTILL,    still    with    Thee,    when    purple    morning 
^^  breaketh, 

When  the  bird  waketh,  and  the  shadows  flee  ; 
Fairer  than  morning,  lovelier  than  the  dayhght. 

Dawns  the  sweet  consciousness,  I  am  with  Thee! 

Alone  with  Thee,  amid  the  mystic  shadows, 
The  solemn  hush  of  nature  newly  born  ; 

Alone  with  Thee  in  breathless  adoration, . 
In  the  calm  dew  and  freshness  of  the  morn. 

A.S  in  the  dawning,  o'er  the  waveless  ocean, 
The  image  of  the  morning  star  doth  rest, 

So  in  this  stillness  Thou  beholdest  only 
Thine  image  in  the  waters  of  my  breast. 

Still,  still  with  Thee  !  as,  to  each  new-born  morning, 
A  fresh  and  solemn  splendor  still  is  given. 

So  doth  this  blessed  consciousness,  awaking, 

Breathe,  each  day,  nearness  unto  Thee  and  Heaven 

When  sinks  the  soul,  subdued  by  toil,  to  slumber, 
Its  closing  eye  looks  up  to  Thee  in  prayer  ; 

Sweet  the  repose  beneath  Thy  wings  o'ershading, 
But  sweeter  still  to  wake  and  find  Thee  there. 


I 


^o  QUIET  HOURS. 

So  shall  it  be  at  last,  in  that  bright  morning, 
When  the  soul  waketh,  and  life's  shadows  flee  ; 

Oh  !  in  that  hour,  fairer  than  daylight  dawning, 
Shall  rise  the  glorious  thought,  I  am  with  Thee  ! 

Harriet  Beecher  Stowe. 


VESPERS. 

r\  SHADOW  in  a  sultry  land  ! 

We  gather  to  thy  breast, 
Whose  love  enfolding  like  the  night 

Brings  quietude  and  rest, 
Glimpse  of  the  fairer  life  to  be, 

In  foretaste  here  possessed  ! 

From  aimless  wanderings  we  come, 
From  drifting  to  and  fro  ; 

The  wave  of  being  mingles  deep 
Amid  its  ebb  and  flow  ; 

The  grander  sweep  of  tides  serene 
Our  spirits  yearn  to  know  ! 

That  which  the  garish  day  had  lost« 

The  twilight  vigil  brings. 
While  softlier  the  vesper  bell 

Its  silver  cadence  rings, — 
The  sense  of  an  immortal  trust, 

The  brush  of  anorel  wino^s  ! 


I 


MORNING  AND  EVENING,  41 

Drop  down  behind  the  solemn  hills, 

O  Day,  with  golden  skies! 
Serene  above  its  fading  glow, 

Night,  starry  crowned,  arise  ! 
So  beautiful  may  Heaven  be, 

When  Life's  last  sunbeam  dies  ! 

C.  M.  Packard 


AN    EVENING   HYMN. 

T    ORD,  should  we  oft  forget  to  sing 
-''-'     A  thankful  evening  song  of  praise, 
This  duty  they  to  mind  might  bring 
Who  chirp  among  the  bushy  sprays. 
For  to  their  perches  they  retire,. 
When  first  the  twilight  waxeth  dim  ; 
And  every  night  that  sweet-voiced  choir 
Shuts  up  the  daylight  with  a  hymn. 

Ten  thousand-fold  more  cause  have  we 
To  close  each  day  with  praiseful  voice, 
To  offer  thankful  hearts  to  Thee, 
And  in  Thy  mercies  to  rejoice. 
Therefore  for  all  Thy  mercies  past, 
For  those  this  evening  doth  afford. 
And  which  for  times  to  come  Thou  hast. 
We  give  Thee  hearty  thanks,  O  Lord  ! 

George  Wither,  158S   166- 


%2  QUIET  HOURS. 


ALL'S    WELL. 


''  I  ^HE  day  is  ended.     Ere  I  sink  to  sleep 

-*■       My  weary  spirit  seeks  repose  in  Thine  : 
Father  !  forgive  my  trespasses,  and  keep 
This  h'ttle  hfe  of  mine. 

With  loving  kindness  curtain  Thou  my  bed  ; 
And  cool  in  rest  my  burning  pilgrim-feet; 
Thy  pardon  be  the  pillow  for  my  head,  — 
So  shall  my  sleep  be  sweet. 

At  peace  with  all  the  world,  dear  Lord,  and  Thee. 
No  fears  my  soul's  unwavering  faith  can  shake; 
Airs  well !  Vv'hichever  side  the  grave  for  me 
The  morning  light  may  break  ! 

Harriet  McEwen  Kimball 


MIDNIGHT   HYMN. 

TN  the  mid  silence  of  the  voiceless  night, 

-■■      When,  chased  by  airy  dreams,  the  slumbers 

flee, 
Whom  in  the  darkness  doth  my  spirit  seek, 
O  God,  but  Thee  ? 

And  if  there  be  a  weight  upon  my  breast, 
Some  vague  impression  of  the  day  foregone. 
Scarce  knowing  what  it  is,  I  fly  to  Thee, 
And  lay  it  down. 


MORiYING  AND  EVENING.  43 

Or  if  it  be  the  heaviness  that  comes 
In  token  of  anticipated  ill, 
My  bosom  takes  no  heed  of  what  it  is, 
Since  'tis  Thy  will. 

For  oh,  in  spite  of  past  and  present  care, 
Or  any  thing  beside,  how  joyfully 
Passes  that  silent,  solitary  hour. 
My  God,  with  Thee. 

]\Iore  tranquil  than  the  stillness  of  the  nighi, 
More  peaceful  than  the  silence  of  that  hour, 
More  blest  than  any  thing,  my  spirit  hes 
Beneath  Thy  power. 

For  what  is  there  on  earth  that  I  desire 
Of  all  that  it  can  give  or  take  from  me, 
Or  whom  in  heaven  doth  my  spirit  seek, 
O  God,  but  Thee. 

Anon.     Found  in  a  chesty  in  an  English  cottage 


EVENING   DEVOTION. 

TTRE  on  my  bed  my  limbs  I  lay, 

-^-^     It  hath  not  been  my  use  to  pray 

With  moving  lips  or  bended  knees  ; 

But  silently,  by  slow  degrees, 

My  spirit  I  to  Love  compose, 

In  humble  trust  mine  eyelids  close, 


4  \  QUIET  HOURS. 

With  reverential  resignation, 

No  wish  conceived,  no  thought  expressed ! 

Only  a  sense  of  supplication, 

A  sense  o'er  all  my  soul  imprest 

That  I  am  wealc,  yet  not  unblest, 

Since,  in  me,  round  me,  everywhere, 

Eternal  Strength  and  Wisdom  are. 

Samuel  Tavlor  Colbrk-v* 


I 


LIFE     AND      DUTY. 


ODE    TO    DUTY.  : 

O  TERN  Daughter  of  the  Voice  of  God  ! 

*^     O  Duty  !  if  that  name  thou  love 

Who  art  a  light  to  guide,  a  rod 

To  check  the  erring,  and  reprove ; 

Thou,  who  art  victory  and  law 

When  empty  terrors  overawe  ; 

From  vain  temptations  dost  set  free, 

And  calm'st  the  weary  strife  of  frail  humanity  ! 

There  are  who  ask  not  if  thine  eye 
Be  on  them  ;  who,  in  love  and  truth, 
Where  no  misgiving  is,  rely 
Upon  the  genial  sense  of  youth  ; 
Glad  hearts  !  without  reproach  or  blot, 
Who  do  thy  work,  and  know  it  not : 
Long  may  the  kindly  impulse  last  ! 
But  thou,  if  they  should  totter,  teach  them  to 
stand  fast ! 

Serene  will  be  our  days  and  bright. 
And  happy  will  our  nature  be, 
When  love  is  an  unerring  light, 
And  joy  its  own  security. 


46  QUIET  HOURS. 

And  they  a  blissful  course  may  hold, 
Even  now,  who,  not  unwisely  bold, 
Live  in  the  spirit  of  this  creed  ; 
Yet  find  that  other  strength,  according  to  their 
need. 

I,  lOving  freedom,  and  untried  ; 
No  sport  of  every  random  gust, 
Yet  being  to  myself  a  guide, 
Too  blindly  have  reposed  my  trust : 
And  oft,  when  in  my  heart  was  heard 
Thy  timely  mandate,  I  deferred 
The  task,  in  smoother  walks  to  stray  ; 
But  thee  I  now  would  serve  more  strictly,  if  I 
may. 

Through  no  disturbance  of  my  soul, 

Or  strong  compunction  in  me  wrought, 

I  supplicate  for  thy  control ; 

But  in  the  quietness  of  thought : 

Me  this  unchartered  freedom  tires  ; 

I  feel  the  weight  of  chance-desires  : 

My  hopes  no  more  must  change  their  name, 

I  long  for  a  repose  that  ever  is  the  same. 

Stern  Lawgiver  !  yet  thou  dost  wear 
The  Godhead's  most  benignant  grace  ; 
Nor  know  we  any  thing  so  fair 
As  i.s  the  smile  upon  thy  face  ; 
Flowers  laugh  before  thee  on  their  beds ; 
And  fragrance  in  thy  footing  treads  ; 


LIFE  AND   DUTY.  47 

rhou  dost  preserve  the  stars  from  wrong  ; 
And  the  most  ancient  heavens,  through  thee,  are 
fresh  and  strong. 

To  humbler  functions,  awful  Power  ! 
I  call  thee  :  I  myself  commend 
Unto  thy  guidance  from  this  hour  ; 
Oh,  let  my  weakness  have  an  end ! 
Give  unto  me,  m.ade  lowly  wise. 
The  spirit  of  self-sacrifice  ; 
The  confidence  of  reason  give  ; 
And  in  the  light  of  truth  thy  Bondman  let  me 
live  ! 

William  Wordsworth 


EXTRACT   FROM    "ST.  MATTHEW'S    DAY.'^ 

npHERE  are  in  this  loud  stunning  tide 
"*-       Of  human  care  and  crime, 
With  whom  the  melodies  abide 
Of  the  everlasting  chime  ; 
Who  carry  music  in  their  heart 

Through  dusky  lane  and  wrangling  mart, 
Plying  their  daily  toil  with  busier  feet, 
Because  their  secret  souls  a  holy  strain  repeat. 

John  Kbblp 


QUIET  HOURS. 


FLOWERS    WITHOUT    FRUIT. 

T3RUNE  thou  thy  words,  the  thoughts 
control 

That  o'er  thee  swell  and  throng ; 
They  will  condense  within  thy  soul, 

And  change  to  purpose  strong. 

But  he  who  lets  his  feeHngs  run 

In  soft,  luxurious  flow, 
Shrinks  when  hard  service  must  be  done, 

And  faints  at  every  woe. 

Faith's  meanest  deed  more  favor  bears 
Where  hearts  and  wills  are  weighed, 

Than  brightest  transports,  choicest  prayers, 
Which  bloom  their  hour  and  fade. 

John  Henry  Newman,  i8;  j 


«HE   REMEMBERETH   WE   ARE   DUST.' 

TTTHERE'ER  her  troubled  path  maybe, 
^  ^       The  Lord's  sweet  pity  with  her  go  I 

The  outward  w^ayward  life  we  see. 

The  hidden  springs  w^e  may  not  know. 

Nor  is  it  given  us  to  discern 

What  threads  the  fatal  sisters  spun. 
Through  what  ancestral  years  has  run 

The  sorrow  with  the  woman  born  ; 


JLlFE  AND  DUTY.  4«) 

What  forged  her  cruel  chain  of  moods, 
What  set  her  feet  in  sohtudes, 

And  held  the  love  within  her  mute  ; 
What  mingled  madness  in  the  blood, 

A  life-long  discord  and  annoy, 

Water  of  tears  with  oil  of  joy. 
And  hid  within  the  folded  bud 

Perversities  of  flower  and  fruit. 
It  is  not  ours  to  separate 
The  tangled  skein  of  will  and  fate. 
To  show  what  metes  and  bounds  should  stand 
Upon  the  soul's  debatable  land, 
And  between  choice  and  Providence 
Divide  the  circle  of  events  ; 

But  He  who  knows  our  frame  is  just. 
Merciful  and  compassionate, 
And  full  of  sweet  assurances 
And  hope  for  all  the  language  is, 

That  He  remembereth  we  are  dust ! 

J.  G.  WHiTTiER,yr^w  Snow-Boux  i 


"MY   TIMES   ARE    IN    THY   HAND." 

PSALiM    XXxL    15. 

'PATHER,  I  know  that  all  my  life 

•^        Is  portioned  out  for  me, 

And  the  changes  that  are  sure  to  come, 

I  do  not  fear  to  see  ; 
But  I  ask  Thee  for  a  present  mind 

Intent  on  pleasing  Thee. 


QUIET  HOURS. 

I  ask  Thee  for  a  thoughtful  love, 
Through  constant  watching  wise, 

To  meet  the  glad  with  joyful  smiles, 
And  to  wipe  the  weeping  eyes  ; 

And  a  heart  at  leisure  from  itself, 
To  soothe  and  sympathize. 

I  would  not  have  the  restless  will 

That  hurries  to  and  fro, 
Seeking  for  some  great  thing  to  dc 

Or  secret  thing  to  know  ; 
I  would  be  treated  as  a  child, 

And  guided  where  I  go. 

Wherever  in  the  world  I  am, 

In  whatsoe'er  estate, 
I  have  a  fellowship  with  hearts 

To  keep  and  cultivate  ; 
And  a  work  of  lowly  love  to  do 

For  the  Lord  on  whom  I  wait. 

So  I  ask  Thee  for  the  daily  strength. 

To  none  that  ask  denied, 
And  a  mind  to  blend  with  outward  lite 

While  keeping  at  Thy  side  ; 
Content  to  fill  a  little  space, 

If  Thou  be  glorified. 

And  if  some  things  I  do  not  ask. 

In  my  cup  of  blessing  be, 
I  would  have  my  spirit  filled  the  more 

With  grateful  love  to  Thee,  — 


LIFE  AND  DUTY,  $1 

More  careful,  —  not  to  serve  Thee  much, 
But  to  please  Thee  perfectly. 

There  are  briers  besetting  every  path, 

That  call  for  patient  care  ; 
There  is  a  cross  in  every  lot, 

And  an  earnest  need  for  prayer; 
But  a  lowly  heart  that  leans  on  Thee 

Is  happy  anywhere. 

In  a  service  which  Thy  will  appoints, 

There  are  no  bonds  for  me  ; 
For  my  inmost  heart  is  taught  "  the  truth 

That  makes  Thy  children  "  free  ;  " 
And  a  life  of  self-renouncing  love 

Is  a  life  of  liberty. 

A.  L.  Waring. 


FROM    "MY   SOUL  AND    I." 

Ty^NOW  well,  my  soul,  God's  hand  controls, 
■^-^     Whate'er  thou  fearest ; 
Round  Him  in  calmest  music  rolls 
Whate'er  thou  hearest. 

What  to  thee  is  shadow,  to  Him  is  day, 

And  the  end  He  knoweth. 
And  not  on  a  bUnd  and  aimless  way 

The  spirit  goeth. 


5^  QUIET  HOURS. 

Like  warp  and  woof  all  destinies 

Are  woven  fast, 
Linked  in  sympathy  like  the  keys 

Of  an  organ  vast. 

Pluck  one  thread,  and  the  web  ye  mar ; 

Break  but  one 
Of  a  thousand  keys,  and  the  paining  jar 

Through  all  will  run. 

Oh,  restless  spirit !  wherefore  strain 

Beyond  thy  sphere  ?  — 
Heaven  and  hell,  with  their  joy  and  pain, 

Are  now  and  here. 

Back  to  thyself  is  measured  well 

All  thou  hast  given  ; 
Thy  neighbor's  wrong  is  thy  present  hell. 

His  bliss,  thy  heaven. 

And  in  life,  in  death,  in  dark  and  light, 

All  are  in  God's  care  ; 
Sound  the  black  abyss,  pierce  the  deep  of  nighi. 

And  He  is  there. 

Leaning  on  Him,  make  with  reverent  meekness 

His  own  thy  will, 
And  with    strength  from    Him  shall   thy  utter 
weakness 

Life's  task  fulfil. 

J.  G.  Whittibb 


LIFE  AND  DUTY.  53 


THE   STRAIGHT    ROAD. 

"OEAUTY  may  be  the  path  to  highest  good, 
^^     And  some  successfully  have  it  pursued. 
Thou,  who  wouldst  follow,  be  well  warned  to  see 
That  way  prove  not  a  curved  road  to  thee. 
The  straightest  way  perhaps  which  may  be  sought 
Lies  through  the  great  highway  men  call  I  ought. 

Disciples'  Hymi;-i<x: 


SEMITA   JUSTORUM. 

TT  THEN   I  look  back  upon  my  former  race, 
^^       Seasons  I  see  at  which  the  Inward  Ra} 

More  brightly  burned,  or  guided  some  new  way  ; 
Truth,  in  its  wealthier  scene  and  nobler  space. 
Given  for  my  eye  to  range,  and  feet  to  trace. 
And  next,  I  mark,  'twas  trial  did  convey, 
Or  grief,  or  pain,  or  strange  eventful  day, 
To  my  tormented  soul  such  larger  grace. 
So  now,  v/hene'er,  in  journeying  on,  I  feel 
The  shadow  of  the  Providential  Hand, 
Deep  breathless  stirrings  shoot  across  my  breast, 
Searching  to  know  what  He  will  now  reveal, 
What  sin  uncloak,  what  stricter  rule  command, 
And  girding  me  to  work  His  full  behest. 

John  Henry  Newman,   1833 


=^4  QUIET  HOURS. 


BEAUTY    AND    DUTY. 

T   SLEPT,  and  dreamed  that  life  was  beauty; 
■^      I  woke,  —  and  found  that  life  was  duty. 
Was  my  dream,  then,  a  shadowy  He  ? 
Toil  on,  sad  heart,  courageously  ; 
And  thou  shalt  find  thy  dream  shall  be 
A  noon-day  light  and  truth  to  thee. 

Disciples*  Hymn-book 


SONNET. 

TT  THEN  I  consider  how  my  light  is  spent, 
^  ^     Ere  half  my  days,  in  this  dark  world  and  wide. 
And  that  one  talent  which  is  death  to  hide 
Lodged  with  me  useless,  though  my  soul  more  bent 
To  serve  therewith  my  Maker,  and  present 
My  true  account,  lest  he  returning  chide,  — 
"  Doth  God  exact  day-labor,  light  denied  '^.  " 
I  fondly  ask  ;  but  Patience,  to  prevent 
That  murmur,  soon  repHes  :   "  God  doth  not  need 
Either  man's  work  or  his  own  gifts  ;  who  best 
Bear  his  mild  yoke,  they  serve  him  best;  his  state 
Is  kingly.     Thousands  at  his  bidding  speed, 
And  post  o'er  land  and  ocean  without  rest : 
They  also  serve  w'ho  only  stand  and  wait." 

John  Milton 


LIFE    AND    DUTY,  55 


THE   RIGHT   MUST   WIN. 

/^H,  It  is  hard  to  work  for  God, 
^^     To  rise  and  take  His  part 
Upon  this  battle-field  of  earth, 
And  not  sometimes  lose  heart ! 

He  hides  Himself  so  wondrously, 
As  though  there  were  no  God ; 

He  is  least  seen  when  all  the  powers 
Of  ill  are  most  abroad. 

Or  He  deserts  us  at  the  hour 

The  fight  is  all  but  lost ; 
And  seems  to  leave  us  to  ourselves 

Just  when  we  need  Him  most. 

Ill  masters  good,  good  seems  to  change 

To  ill  with  greatest  ease  ; 
And,  worst  of  all,  the  good  with  good 

Is  at  cross  purposes. 

Ah  !  God  is  other  than  we  think ; 

His  ways  are  far  above. 
Far  beyond  reason's  height,  and  reached 

Only  by  childlike  love. 

Workman  of  God  !  oh,  lose  not  heart, 

But  learn  what  God  is  like ; 
And  in  the  darkest  battle-field 

Thou  shalt  know  where  to  strike 


5 


S6  QUIET  HOURS, 

Thrice  blest  is  he  to  whom  is  given 

The  instinct  that  can  tell 
That  God  is  on  the  field  when  He 

Is  most  invisible. 

Blest,  too,  is  he  who  can  divine 

Where  real  right  doth  lie, 
And  dares  to  take  the  side  that  seems 

Wrong  to  man's  blindfold  eye. 

For  right  is  right,  since  God  is  God ; 

And  right  the  day  must  win ; 
To  doubt  would  be  disloyalty, 

To  falter  would  be  sin  ! 

F.  W.  Fabkr 

MORALITY. 

TT  7E  cannot  kindle  when  we  will 

^  ^     The  fire  that  in  the  heart  resides, 
The  spirit  bloweth  and  is  still. 

In  mystery  our  soul  abides  : 
But  tasks  in  hours  of  insight  will'd 
Can  be  through  hours  of  gloom  fulfill'd. 

With  aching  hands  and  bleeding  feet 
We  dig  and  heap,  lay  stone  on  stone ; 

We  bear  the  burden  and  the  heat 

Of  the  long  day,  and  wish  'twere  done. 

Not  till  the  hours  of  light  return 

All  we  have  built  do  we  discern. 

Matthew  Arnold. 


LIFE  AND  DUTY.  57 


SAY   NOT   THE   STRUGGLE   NOUGHT 
AVAILETH. 


O  AY  not,  the  struggle  nought  availeth, 
*^  The  labor  and  the  wounds  are  vain, 
The  enemy  faints  not,  nor  faileth, 

And  as  things  have  been  they  remain. 

If  hopes  were  dupes,  fears  may  be  liars  , 
It  may  be,  in  yon  smoke  concealed, 

Your  comrades  chase  e'en  now  the  fliers, 
And,  but  for  you,  possess  the  field. 

For  while  the  tired  waves,  vainly  breaking, 
Seem  here  no  painful  inch  to  gain. 

Far  back,  through  creeks  and  inlets  making, 
Comes  silent,  flooding  in,  the  main. 

And  not  by  eastern  windows  only, 
When  daylight  comes,  comes  in  the  light ; 

In  front,  the  sun  climbs  slow,  —  how  slowly  ! 
But  westward,  look,  the  land  is  bright. 

Arthur  H.  Clougi:     849 


58 


QUIET  HOURS. 


THE   SEED    GROWING   SECRETLY 

T~\EAR,  secret  greenness  !  nurst  below 
^^     Tempests  and  winds  and  winter  nights  ! 
Vex  not,  that  but  One  sees  thee  grow ; 
That  One  made  all  these  lesser  hghts. 

What  needs  a  conscience  calm  and  bright 

Within  itself,  an  outward  test  ? 
Who  breaks  his  glass,  to  take  more  light, 

Makes  w^ay  for  storms  into  his  rest. 


Then  bless  thy  secret  growth,  nor  catch 
At  noise,  but  thrive  unseen  and  dumb ; 

Keep  clean,  bear  fruit,  earn  hfe,  and  watch 
Till  the  white-winged  reapers  come  ! 

Henrv  Vaugka?* 


THE     MYSTERY    OF    LIFE. 


SPINNING. 

T    IKE  a  blind  spinner  in  the  sun, 

-*— '  I  tread  my  days  ; 

I  know  that  all  the  threads  will  run 

Appointed  ways  ; 
I  know  each  day  will  bring  its  task, 
And,  being  blind,  no  more  I  ask. 

I  do  not  know  the  use  or  name 

Of  that  I  spin ; 
I  only  know  that  some  one  came. 

And  laid  within 
My  hand  the  thread,  and  said,  "  Since  you 
Are  blind,  but  one  thing  you  can  do." 

Sometimes  the  threads  so  rough  and  fast 

And  tangled  fly, 
I  know  wild  storms  are  sweeping  past, 

And  fear  that  I 
Shall  fall ;  but  dare  not  try  to  find 
A  safer  place,  since  I  am  blind. 

I  know  not  why,  but  I  am  sure 

That  tint  and  place. 
In  some  great  fabric  to  endure 

Past  time  and  race 


6o  QUIET  HOURS. 

My  threads  will  have  ;  so  from  the  first, 
Though  blind,  I  never  felt  accurst. 

I  think,  perhaps,  this  trust  has  sprung 

From  one  short  word 
Said  over  me  when  I  was  young, — 

So  young,  I  heard 
It,  knowing  not  that  God's  name  signed 
My  brow,  and  sealed  me  His,  though  blind. 

But  whether  this  be  seal  or  sign 

Within,  without. 
It  matters  not.     The  bond  divine 

I  never  doubt. 
I  know  He  set  me  here,  and  still, 
And  glad,  and  blind,  I  wait  His  will ; 

But  listen,  Hsten,  day  by  day. 

To  hear  their  tread 
Who  bear  the  finished  web  away, 

And  cut.  the  thread. 
And  bring  God's  message  in  the  sun, 
"  Thou  poor  blind  spinner,  work  is  done.' 


H.  H 


**  THROUGH    A    GLASS    DARKLY." 

TT  THAT  we,  when  face  to  face  we  see 
'  ^       The  Father  of  our  souls,  shall  be, 
John  tells  us,  doth  not  yet  appear : 
Ah  !  did  he  tell  what  we  are  here  ! 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  LIFE.  6\ 

A  mind  for  thoughts  to  pass  into, 
A  heart  for  loves  to  travel  through, 
Five  senses  to  detect  things  near, 
Is  this  the  whole  that  we  are  here  ? 

Rules  baffle  instincts,  —  instincts  rules  ; 
Wise  men  are  bad,  —  and  good  are  fools  j 
Facts  evil  —  wishes  vain  appear, 
We  cannot  go,  why  are  we  here  ? 

O  may  we,  for  assurance  sake, 
Some  arbitrary  judgment  take, 
And  wilfully  pronounce  it  clear, 
For  this  or  that  'tis  we  are  here  ? 

Or  is  it  right,  and  will  it  do, 
To  pace  the  sad  confusion  through, 
And  say:  "It  doth  not  yet  appear, 
What  we  shall  be,  what  we  are  here  '*  ? 

Ah,  yet,  when  all  is  thought  and  said, 
The  heart  still  overrules  the  head ; 
Still  what  we  hope  we  must  believe, 
And  what  is  given  us  receive ; 

Must  still  believe,  for  still  we  hope, 
That  in  a  world  of  larger  scope. 
What  here  is  faithfully  begun 
Will  be  completed,  not  undone. 

My  child,  we  still  must  think,  when  we 
That  ampler  life  together  see. 
Some  true  result  will  yet  appear 
Of  what  we  are,  together,  here. 

Arthur  Hugh  Clough 


6 J  QUIET  HOURS. 


DAYS. 

T^AUGHTERS  of  TimCj  the  hypocritic  Days, 

"*-^     Muffled  and  dumb  like  barefoot  dervishes,  \ 

And  marching  single  in  an  endless  file, 

Bring  diadems  and  fagots  in  their  hands. 

To  each  they  offer  gifts  after  his  will, 

Bread,  kingdoms,  stars,  and  sky  that  holds  them  alL 

I,  in  my  pleached  garden,  watched  the  pomp. 

Forgot  my  morning  wishes,  hastily  J 

Took  a  few  herbs  and  apples,  and  the  Day  ^ 

Turned  and  departed  silent.     I,  too  late, 

Under  her  solemn  fillet  saw  the  scorn. 

R.  W.  Emerson 


HUMAN   LIFE. 

O  AD  is  our  youth,  for  it  is  ever  going, 
^^     Crumbling  away  beneath  our  very  feet ; 
Sad  is  our  hfe,  for  onward  it  is  flowing, 
In  current  unperceived  because  so  fleet ; 
Sad  are  our  hopes,  for  they  were  sweet  in  sowing, 
But  tares,  self-sown,  have  overtopped  the  wheat ; 
Sad  are  our  joys,  for  they  were  sweet  in  blowing, 
And  still,  O  still,  their  dying  breath  is  sweet : 
And  sweet  is  youth,  although  it  hath  bereft  us 
Of  that  which  made  our  childhood  sweeter  still ; 
And  sweet  is  middle  Hfe,  for  it  hath  left  us 
A  nearer  Good  to  cure  an  older  111 : 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  LIFE.  63 

And  sweet  are  all  things,  when  we  learn  to  prize 

them 
Not  for  their  sake,  but  His  who  grants  them  or 

denies  them. 

Aubrey  de  Ver^ 


THE   STREAM   OF   LIFE. 

/^  STREAM  descending  to  the  sea, 
^-^     Thy  mossy  banks  between, 
The  flow'rets  blow,  the  grasses  grow, 
The  leafy  trees  are  green. 

In  garden  plots  the  children  play. 
The  fields  the  labourers  till, 

And  houses  stand  on  either  hand, 
And  thou  descendest  still. 

O  life  descending  into  death, 

Our  waking  eyes  behold 
Parent  and  friend  thy  lapse  attend. 

Companions  young  and  old. 

Strong  purposes  our  minds  possess, 

Our  hearts  affections  fill, 
We  toil  and  earn,  we  seek  and  learn, 

And  thou  descendest  still. 

O  end  to  which  our  currents  tend. 

Inevitable  sea, 
To  which  we  flow,  what  do  we  know, 

What  shall  we  guess  of  thee  ? 


64  QUIET  HOURS. 

A  roar  we  hear  upon  thy  shore, 

As  we  our  course  fulfil ; 
Scarce  we  divine  a  sun  will  shine 

And  be  above  us  still. 

Arthur  Hugh  Cloogh 


MASON-LODGE. 

npHE  Future  hides  in  it 
■*■       Gladness  and  sorrow  ; 
We  press  still  thorow, 
Nought  that  abides  in  it 
Daunting  us,  —  onward. 

And  solemn  before  us, 
Veiled,  the  dark  Portal, 
Goal  of  all  mortal :  — 
Stars  silent  rest  o'er  us. 
Graves  under  us  silent. 

While  earnest  thou  gazest, 
Comes  boding  of  terror, 
Comes  phantasm  and  error, 
Perplexes  the  bravest 
With  doubt  and  misgiving. 

But  heard  are  the  Voices,  — 
Heard  are  the  Sages, 
The  Worlds  and  the  Ages  : 
**  Choose  well,  your  choice  is 
Brief  and  yet  endless  ; 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  LIFE,  65 

Here  eyes  do  regard  you, 
In  Eternity's  stillness  ; 
Here  is  all  fulness, 
Ye  brave,  to  reward  you  ; 
Work,  and  despair  not." 

J.  W.  VON  Goethe.     7V«?^^.  ^^  Thomas  Carl vr^ 

STANZAS. 

npHOUGHT  is  deeper  than  all  speech, 
-■■       Feeling  deeper  than  all  thought  ; 
Souls  to  souls  can  never  teach 
What  unto  themselves  was  taught. 

We  are  spirits  clad  in  veils ; 

Man  by  man  was  never  seen  ; 
All  our  deep  communing  fails 

To  remove  the  shadowy  screen. 

Heart  to  heart  was  never  kncfwn ; 

Mind  with  mind  did  never  meet ; 
We  are  columns,  left  alone. 

Of  a  temple  once  complete. 

Like  the  stars  that  gem  the  sky, 

Far  apart,  though  seeming  near, 
In  our  hght  we  scattered  lie  ; 

All  is  thus  but  starlight  here. 

What  is  social  company 

But  a  babbling  summer  stream  ? 
What  our  wise  philosophy 

But  the  o:lancinor  of  a  dream  } 


66  QUIE7^  HOURS. 

Only  whxcn  the  sun  of  love 

Melts  the  scattered  stars  of  thought ; 

Only  when  we  live  above 

What  the  dim-eyed  world  hath  taught ; 

Only  when  our  souls  are  fed 

By  the  Fount  which  gave  them  birth, 

And  by  inspiration  led 

Which  they  never  drew  from  earth  ; 

We,  hke  parted  drops  of  rain, 

Swelling  till  they  melt  and  run, 

Shall  be  all  absorbed  again, 

Melting,  flowing  into  one. 

C.  P    Cranch 


THE    PROBLEM. 

T  LIKE  a  church  ;  I  like  a  cowl ; 

-*•     I  love  a  prophei  of  the  soul  ; 

And  on  my  heart  monastic  aisles 

Fall  like  sweet  strains,  or  pensive  smiles ; 

Yet  not  for  all  his  faith  could  see 

Would  I  that  cowled  churchman  be. 

Why  should  the  vest  on  him  allure, 
Which  I  could  not  on  me  endure  ? 

Not  from  a  vain  or  shallow  thought 
His  awful  Jove  young  Phidias  brought ; 
Never  from  lips  of  cunning  fell 
The  thrilling  Delphic  oracle  ; 


THE  MYSTEkV  OF  LIFE,  67 

Out  from  the  heart  of  nature  rolled 
The  burdens  of  the  Bible  old  ; 
The  litanies  of  nations  came, 
Like  the  volcano's  tongue  of  flame, 
Up  from  the  burning  core  below,  — 
The  canticles  of  love  and  woe  ; 
The  hand  that  rounded  Peter's  dome, 
And  groined  the  aisles  of  Christian  Rome, 
Wrought  in  a  sad  sincerity  ; 
Himself  from  God  he  could  not  free  ; 
He  builded  better  than  he  knew  ;  — 
The  conscious  stone  to  beauty  grew. 

Know'st  thou  what  wove  yon  woodbird's  nest 

Of  leaves,  and  feathers  from  her  breast? 

Or  how  the  fish  outbuilt  her  shell, 

Paintino^  with  morn  each  annual  cell  ? 

Or  how  the  sacred  pine-tree  adds 

To  her  old  leaves  new  myriads  ? 

Such  and  so  grew  these  holy  piles. 

Whilst  love  and  terror  laid  the  tiles. 

Earth  proudly  wears  the  Parthenon, 

As  the  best  gem  upon  her  zone ; 

And  Morning  opes  with  haste  her  lids. 

To  gaze  upon  the  Pyramids  ; 

O'er  England's  abbeys  bends  the  sky. 

As  on  its  friends,  with  kindred  eye ; 

For,  out  of  Thought's  interior  sphere, 

These  wonders  rose  to  upper  air ; 

And  Nature  gladly  gave  them  place, 

Adopted  them  into  her  race. 


68  QUIET  HOURS, 

And  granted  them  an  equal  date 
With  Andes  and  with  Ararat. 

These  temples  grew  as  grows  the  grass  ; 

Art  might  obey,  but  not  surpass. 

The  passive  Master  lent  his  hand 

To  the  vast  soul  that  o'er  him  planned  ; 

And  the  same  power  that  reared  the  shrine 

Bestrode  the  tribes  that  knelt  within. 

Ever  die  fiery  Pentecost 

Girds  with  one  flame  the  countless  host, 

Trances  the  heart  through  chanting  choirs, 

And  through  the  priest  the  mind  inspires. 

The  word  unto  the  prophet  spoken 

Was  writ  on  tables  yet  unbroken  ; 

The  word  by  seers  or  sibyls  told. 

In  groves  of  oak,  or  fanes  of  gold, 

Still  floats  upon  the  morning  wind, 

Still  whispers  to  the  wilhng  mind. 

One  accent  of  the  Holy  Ghost 

The  heedless  world  hath  never  lost. 


R.  W.  Emerson 

"THALATTA!" 

Cry  of  the  Ten  Thousand. 

T   STAND  upon  the  summit  of  my  years. 

-■-     Behind,  the  toil,  the  camp,  the  march,  the 

strife. 
The  wandering  and  the  desert ;  vast,  afar, 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  LIFE,  69 

Beyond  this  weary  way,  behold  !  the  Sea  ! 

The  sea  o'erswept  by  clouds  and  winds  and  win^s, 

By  thoughts  and  wishes  manifold,  whose  breath 

Is  freshness  and  whose  mighty  pulse  is  peace. 

Palter  no  question  of  the  dim  Beyond  ; 

Cut  loose  the  bark  ;  such  voyage  itself  is  rest ; 

Majestic  motion,  unimpeded  scope, 

A  widening  heaven,  a  current  without  care. 

Eternity!  —  Deliverance,  Promise,  Course! 

Time-tired  souls  salute  thee  from  the  shore. 

Brownlek  Brown 


QUA   CURSUM   VENTUS.  : 

A  S  ships,  becalmed  at  eve,  that  lay 
"^  ^     With  canvas  drooping,  side  by  side,  ^ 

Two  towers  of  sail  at  dawn  of  day  ' 

Are  scarce  long  leagues  apart  descried  ; 

When  fell  the  night,  upsprung  the  breeze. 

And  all  the  darkhng  hours  they  plied,  j 

Nor  dreamt  but  each  the  self-same  seas  j 

By  each  was  cleaving,  side  by  side  : 

E'en  so  — but  why  the  tale  reveal  \ 

Of  those,  whom  year  by  year  unchanged,  \ 

Brief  absence  joined  anew  to  feel,  ,  ■ 

Astounded,  soul  from  soul  estranged  ?  i 


70  QUIET  HOURS. 

At  dead  of  night  their  sails  were  filled, 
And  onward  each  rejoicing  steered  — 

Ah,  neither  blame,  for  neither  willed, 
Or  wist,  what  first  with  dawn  appeared  ! 

I'o  veer,  how  vain  !     On,  onward  strain, 
Brave  barks  !     In  Hght,  in  darkness  too. 

Through  winds  and  tides  one  compass  guides  — 
To  that,  and  your  own  selves,  be  true. 

But  O  blithe  breeze  !  and  O  great  seas, 
Though  ne'er,  that  earhest  parting  past, 

On  your  wide  plain  they  join  again. 
Together  lead  them  home  at  last ! 

One  port,  methought,  aHke  they  sought, 
One  purpose  hold  where'er  they  fare,  — 

O  bounding  breeze,  O  rushing  seas  ! 
At  last,  at  last,  unite  them  there  ! 

Arthup  V    Clough 


INWARD      STRIFE. 


IN   THE   FIELD. 

■ppiGHTING  the  battle  of  life! 
•*-        With  a  weary  heart  and  head ; 
For  in  the  midst  of  the  strife 
The  banners  of  joy  are  fled.  i 

Fled,  and  gone  out  of  sight, 

When  I  thought  they  were  so  near ;  ' 

And  the  music  of  hope,  this  night,  ; 

Is  dying  away  on  my  ear.  \ 

Fighting  the  whole  day  long, 

With  a  very  tired  hand,  —  \ 

With  only  my  armour  strong —  ] 

The  shelter  in  which  I  stand.  j 

Fighting  alone  to-night, —  { 

With  not  even  a  stander-by  j 

To  cheer  me  on  in  the  fight. 
Or  to  hear  me  when  I  cry. 

Only  the  Lord  can  hear —  i 

Only  the  Lord  can  see,  j 

The  struggle  within,  how  dark  and  drear,  \ 

Though  quiet  the  outside  be. 


72  QUIET  HOURS. 

Lord,  I  would  fain  be  still 

And  quiet,  behind  my  shield  ; 

But  make  me  to  love  thy  will, 
For  fear  I  should  ever  yield. 

Nothing  but  perfect  trust, 
And  love  of  thy  perfect  will, 

Can  raise  me  out  of  tlie  dust, 
And  bid  my  fears  be  still. 

Even  as  now  my  hands  — 

So  doth  my  folded  w^iil 
Lie  waiting  thy  commands, 

Without  one  anxious  thrill. 

But  as  with  sudden  pain 

My  hands  unfold,  and  clasp,  — 

So  doth  my  will  start  up  again. 
And  taketh  its  old  firm  grasp. 

Lord,  fix  my  eyes  upon  thee. 
And  fill  my  heart  with  thy  love ; 

And  keep  my  soul  till  the  shadows  flee, 
And  the  ligfht  breaks  forth  above. 


Anna  Warner. 


ONLY    ONE    STEP. 

T  TAINLY  I  strive  through  the  darkness  to  see 
^       The  path  I  must  travel,  'tis  hidden  from  me; 
Halting,  despairingly,  kneeling,  I  say, 
"  Father,  I  cannot  go  ;  there  is  no  way." 


xNWARD  STRIFE.  73 

Lo !  as  I  kneel,  at  His  feet  humbly  bowed, 

My  pathway  is  shown  through  a  break  in  the  cloud,  - 

No  road  stretching  far,  the  horizon  to  meet, 

Only  one  step,  lying  close  at  my  feet. 

"  Place  my  feet  in  it,  O  Father  above  ! 

Teach  me  to  trust  in  Thy  infinite  love  ! 

The  way  that  is  hidden  from  me  still  Thou  knowest ; 

Make  me  content  with  the  step  that  Thou  showest ! " 

Thk  Olive  Lkaf 


UNDER    THE    CROSS. 

T  CANNOT,  cannot  say  — 

•^     Out  of  my  bruised  and  breaking  heart  • 

Storm-driven  along  a  thorn-set  way, 

While  blood-drops  start 
From  every  pore,  as  I  drag  on  — 

"  Thy  will,  O  God,  be  done." 

I  cannot,  in  the  w^ave 
Of  my  strange  sorrow's  fierce  baptism, 
Look  up  to  heaven,  with  spirit  brave 

With  holy  chrism  ; 
And  while  the  whelming  rite  goes  ct).. 

Murmur,  "God's  will  be  done" 


74  QUIET  HOURS. 

I  thought,  but  yesterday, 
My  will  was  one  with  God's  dear  will ; 
And  that  it  w^ould  be  sweet  to  say  — 

Whatever  ill 
My  happy  state  should  smite  upon, 

*'  Thy  will,  my  God,  be  done." 

Now,  faint  and  sore  afraid. 
Under  my  cross  —  heavy  and  rude^ 
My  idols  in  the  ashes  laid, 

Like  ashes  strewed ; 
The  holy  words  my  pale  lips  shun  — 

^'O  God,  thy  will  be  done." 

Pity  my  woes,  O  God  ! 
And  touch  my  will  with  thy  warm  breath  ; 
Put  in  my  trembling  hand  thy  rod, 

That  quickens  death  ; 
That  my  dead  faith  may  feel  thy  sun, 

And  say,  "  Thy  will  be  done  ! '' 
Jan   I,  1862.  William  C.  Richards 


o 


UNDER    THE    CLOUD. 

BEAUTEOUS  things  of  earth  ! 
I  cannot  feel  your  worth 
To-day. 


O  kind  and  constant  friend  ! 
Our  spirits  cannot  blend 
To-day. 


INWARD  STRIFE.  75 

0  Lord  of  truth  and  grace  ! 

1  cannot  see  Thy  face 

To-day. 

A  shadow  on  my  heart 
Keeps  me  from  all  apart 
To-day. 

Yet  something  in  me  knows 
How  fair  creation  glows 
To-day. 

And  something  makes  me  sure 
That  love  is  not  less  pure 
To-day. 

And  that  th'  Eternal  Good 
Minds  nothing  of  my  mood 
To-day. 

For  when  the  sun  grows  dark, 
A  sacred,  secret  spark 
Shoots  rays. 

Fed  from  a  hidden  bowl, 

A  lamp  burns  in  my  soul 

All  days. 

Charles  G.  Ames,  i'-';^ 


NO    MORE    SEA. 

T    IFE  of  our  life,  and  Light  of  all  our  seeing, 
^^^     How  shall  we  rest  on  any  hope  but  Thee  1 
What  time  our  souls,  to  Thee  for  refuge  fleeing, 
Lonoj  for  the  home  where  there  is  no  more  sea  ? 


7^  QUIET  HOURS. 

For  still  this  sea  of  life,  with  endless  wailing, 
Dashes  above  our  heads  its  blinding  spray, 

A.nd  vanquished  hearts,  sick  with  remorse  and 
failing, 
Moan  like  the  waves  at  set  of  autumn  day. 

And  ever  round  us  swells  the  insatiate  ocean 
Of  sin  and  doubt  that  lures  us  to  our  grave  ; 

When  its  wild  billows,  with  their  mad  commotion. 
Would  sweep  us  down  —  then  only  Thou  canst 
save. 

And  deep  and  dark  the  fearful  gloom  unlighted 
Of  that  untried  and  all-surrounding  sea. 

On  whose  bleak  shore  arriving  —  lone  —  benighted, 
We  fall  and  lose  ourselves  at  last  —  in  Thee. 

Yea  !  in  Thy  life  our  little  lives  are  ended, 
Into  Thy  depths  our  trembhng  spirits  fall ; 

In  Thee  enfolded,  gathered,  comprehended, 
As  holds  the  sea  her  waves  —  Thou  hold'st  us  all ! 

Eliza  Scudder. 


DESIRE. 

'T^HOU,  who  dost  dwell  alone  — 

-■-       Thou,  who  dost  know  thine  own  — 
Thou  to  whom  all  are  known 
From  the  cradle  to  the  grave,  — 
Save,  oh,  save ! 


INWARD  STRIFE.  77 

From  the  world's  temptations, 
From  tribulations  ; 
From  that  fierce  anguish 
Wherein  we  languish  ; 
From  that  torpor  deep 
Wherein  we  lie  asleep, 
Heavy  as  death,  cold  as  the  grave, — 
Save,  oh,  save  ! 

When  the  Soul,  growing  clearer, 
Sees  God  no  nearer  : 
When  the  Soul,  mounting  higher, 
To  God  comes  no  nigher ;  | 

But  tlie  arch-fiend  Pride 
Mounts  at  her  side. 
Foiling  her  high  emprize, 
Seahng  her  eagle  eyes. 
And,  when  she  fain  would  soar, 
Makes  idols  to  adore  ; 
Changing  the  pure  emotion 
Of  her  high  devotion, 
To  a  skin-deep  sense 

Of  her  own  eloquence  ;  \ 

Strong  to  deceive,  strong  to  enslave  —  i 

Save,  oh,  save  !  \ 

From  the  ingrained  fashion  ' 

Of  this  earthly  nature 

That  mars  thy  creature  ; 

From  grief,  that  is  but  passion  ;  \ 

From  mirth,  that  is  but  feigning  ;  J 

From  tears,  that  bring  no  healing ; 


78  QUIET  HOURS. 

From  wild  and  weak  complaining ; 
Thine  old  strength  revealing, 
Save,  oh,  save  ! 

From  doubt,  where  all  is  double : 
Where  wise  men  are  not  strong : 
Where  comfort  turns  to  trouble  : 
Where  just  men  suffer  wrong  : 
Where  sorrow  treads  on  joy : 
Where  sweet  things  soonest  cloy ; 
Where  faiths  are  built  on  dust : 
Where  Love  is  half  mistrust, 
Hungry,  and  barren,  and  sharp  as  ^he  sea ; 
Oh,  set  us  free  ! 

O  let  the  false  dream  fly 
Where  our  sick  souls  do  lie 
Tossing  continually. 
O  where  thy  voice  doth  come 
Let  all  doubts  be  dumb : 
Let  all  words  be  mild  : 
All  strifes  be  reconciled  : 
All  pains  beguiled. 
Light  bring  no  blindness  ; 
Love  no  unkindness  ; 
Knowledge  no  ruin ; 
Fear  no  undoing. 
From  the  cradle  to  the  grave, 
Save,  oh,  save ! 

Matthew  Arnolu, 


IXIVARD  STRIFE,  79 


DENIAL. 

'T^HE  two  best  gifts  in  all  the  perfect  world 
-^       Lie  in  two  close-shut  hands  ; 
The  hands  rest  even  on  the  outstretched  knees 
Like  those  stone  forms  the  wildered  traveller  sees 
In  dreamy  Eastern  lands. 

I  reach  to  grasp  :  but  lo  !  that  hand  withdraws,    - 

The  other  forward  glides  ; 
The  silent  gesture  says  :  "  This  is  for  thee, 
Take  now  and  wait  not  ever,  listlessly, 

For  changing  times  and  tides." 

I  take —  Thou  canst  not  say  I  took  it  not  ! 

The  record  readeth  fair. 
I  take  and  use,  and  come  again  to  crave, 
With  weary  hands  and  feet,  but  spirit  brave  — 

The  same  thing  lieth  there. 

So  many  times  !  ah  me  !  so  many  times  ! 

The  same  hand  gives  the  gift ; 
And  must  I,  till  the  evening  shadows  grow. 
Still  kneel  before  an  everlasting  No, 

To  see  the  other  lift  ? 

I  ask  for  bread  ;  Thou  givest  me  a  stone  ; 

Oh  give  the  other  now  ! 
Thou  knowest  Thou,  the  spirit's  bitter  need, 
The  day  grows  sultry  as  I  come  to  plead 

With  dust  on  hand  and  brow. 


^O  QUIET  HOURS. 

Ah  fool !  Is  he  not  greater  than  thy  heart  ? 

His  eyes  are  kindest  still. 
And  seeing  all,  He  surely  knoweth  best ; 
Oh  if  no  other,  know  the  perfect  rest 

Of  yielding  to  His  will. 

Perchance  —  He  knows  — canst  thou  not  trust 
His  love  1 
For  no  expectant  eyes 
Of  something  other,  full  of  wild  desire 
Can  watch  the  burning  of  the  altar  fire 
Of  daily  sacrifice. 

Anna  C.  Brackett. 


CALL   ON    US. 

TT  THEN  the  enemy  is  near  thee, 
^  ^  Call  on  us  ! 

In  our  hands  we  will  upbear  thee. 
He  shall  neither  scathe  nor  scare  thee, 
He  shall  fly  thee,  and  shall  fear  thee. 

Call  on  us  ! 
Call  when  all  good  friends  have  left  thee. 
Of  all  good  sights  and  sounds  bereft  thee  ; 
Call  when  hope  and  heart  are  sinking. 
And  the  brain  is  sick  with  thinking, 

Help,  O  help  ! 
Call,  and  following  close  behind  thee 
There  shall  haste,  and  there  shall  find  thee, 

Help,  sure  help. 


INWARD  STRIFE.  8i 

When  the  panic  comes  upon  thee, 
When  necessity  seems  on  thee, 
Hope  and  choice  have  all  foregone  thee, 
P^ate  and  force  are  closing  o'er  thee, 
And  but  one  way  stands  before  thee  — 

Call  on  us  ! 
O,  and  if  thou  dost  not  call, 
Be  but  faithful,  that  is  all. 
Go  right  on,  and  close  behind  thee 
There  shall  follow  still  and  find  thee, 

Help,  sure  help. 

Arthur  Hugh  Clough,  1849 


•WITH    WHOM    IS    NO   VARIABLENESS, 
NEITHER   SHADOW   OF    TURNING." 

TT  fortifies  my  soul  to  know 

-*■     That,  though  I  perish,  Truth  is  so : 

That,  howsoe'er  I  stray  and  range. 

Whatever  I  do.  Thou  dost  not  change. 

I  steadier  step  when  I  recall 

That,  if  I  slip,  Thou  dost  not  fall. 

Arthur  Hugh  Clougii 


TRANQUILLITY. 

/^  FEVERED  eyes,  with  searching  strained 
^^     Till  both  the  parching  globes  are  pained, 
At  set  of  sun  is  balm  for  you  : 
Look  up,  and  bathe  them  in  the  blue. 


82  QUIET  HOURS. 

No  need  to  count  the  coming  stars, 
Nor  watch  those  wimpled  pearly  bars 
That  flush  above  the  west ;  but  follow 
In  idler  mood  the  idle  swallow, 
With  careless,  half-unconscious  eye, 
Round  his  great  circles  on  the  sky, 
Till  he,  and  all  things,  lose  for  you 
Their  being  in  that  depth  of  blue. 


O  fevered  brain,  with  searching  strained 

Till  every  pulsing  nerve  is  pained. 

In  tranquil  hours  is  balm  for  you  :  ] 

Vex  not  the  thoughts  with  false  and  true  ;  ! 

Be  still  and  bathe  them  in  the  blue. 

To  every  sad  conviction  throw 

This  grim  defiance  :  "  Be  it  so  !  " 

To  doubts  that  will  not  let  you  sleep, 

This  answer  :  "  Wait !  the  truth  will  keep.  i 

J 

Weary,  and  marred  with  care  and  pain 

And  bruising  days,  the  human  brain 

Draws  wounded  inward,  — it  might  be  ; 

Some  delicate  creature  of  the  sea,  j 

That,  shuddering,  shrinks  its  lucent  dome. 

And  coils  its  azure  tendrils  home. 

And  folds  its  filmy  curtains  tight,  ' 

At  jarring  contact,  e'er  so  light. 

But  let  it  float  away  all  free, 

And  feel  the  buoyant,  supple  sea  ] 


INWARD  STRIFE.  8j 

Among  its  tinted  streamers  swell, 
Again  it  spreads  its  giuzy  rings, 
And,  waving  its  wan  fringes,  swings 
With  rhythmic  pulse  its  crystal  bell. 

Tliink  out,  float  out  away  from  where 
The  pressure  of  the  trembling  air 
Keeps  down  to  earth  the  shrunken  mind. 
Set  free  the  smothered  thought,  and  find, 
Beyond  our  world,  a  vaster  place 
To  thrill  and  vibrate  out  through  space,  — 
As  some  auroral  banner  streams 
Up  through  the  night  in  widening  gleams, 
And  floats  and  flashes  o'er  our  dreams  ; 
There  let  the  whirling  planet  fall 
Down  —  down,  till  but  a  vanishing  ball, 
A  misty  gleam  :  and  dwindled  so. 
Thyself,  thy  world,  no  trace  can  show ; 
Too  small  to  have  a  care  or  woe 
Or  wish,  apart  from  that  one  Will 
That  doth  His  worlds  with  music  fill. 


IN   A   LECTURE-ROOM. 

A  WAY,  haunt  thou  not  me, 
•^  -^^     Thou  vain  Philosophy  ! 
Little  hast  thou  bestead. 
Save  to  perplex  the  head. 
And  leave  the  spirit  dead. 


84  QUIET  HOURS. 

Unto  thy  broken  cisterns  wherefore  o^o, 

While  from  the  secret  treasure-depths  below, 

Fed  by  the  skiey  shower, 

And  clouds  that  sink  and  rest  on  hill-tops  high, 

Wisdom  at  once,  and  Power, 

Are  welhng,  bubbling  forth,  unseen,  incessantly  ? 

Why  labour  at  the  dull  mechanic  oar, 

When  the  fresh  breeze  is  blowing. 

And  the  strong  current  flowing. 

Right  onward  to  the  Eternal  Shore  ? 

Arthur  H.  Clough,  1840. 


PRAYER    AND     ASPIRATION. 


LISTENING    FOR    GOD. 

T  HEAR  it  often  in  the  dark, 
^     I  hear  it  in  the  h'ght,  — 
Where  is  the  voice  that  calls  to  me 

With  such  a  quiet  might? 
It  seems  but  echo  to  my  thought, 

And  yet  beyond  the  stars  ; 
It  seems  a  heart-beat  in  a  hush, 

And  yet  the  planet  jars  ! 

O,  may  it  be  that  far  within 

My  inmost  soul  there  lies 
A  spirit-sky^  that  opens  with 

Those  voices  of  surprise  ? 
And  can  it  be,  by  night  and  day. 

That  firmament  serene 
Is  just  the  heaven  where  God  himself, 

The  Father,  dwells  unseen  ? 

O  God  within,  so  close  to  me 
That  every  thought  is  plain, 

Be  judge,  be  friend,  be  Father  still, 
And  in  thy  heaven  reign ! 


86  QUIET  HOUR^. 

Thy  heaven  is  mine,  —  my  very  soul ! 

Thy  words  are  sweet  and  strono; ; 
They  fill  my  inward  silences 

With  music  and  with  song 

They  send  me  challenges  to  ngnt. 

And  loud  rebuke  my  ill ; 
They  ring  my  bells  of  victory, 

They  breathe  my  *'  Peace,  be  still !" 
They  ever  seem  to  say  —  "  My  child, 

Why  seek  me  so  all  day  ? 

Now  journey  inward  to  thyself, 

And  hsten  by  the  way." 

William  C;.  Gannett. 


THE    PRAYER. 

TT  TILT  Thou  not  visit  me  ? 
^  ^      The  plant  beside  me  feels  Thy  gentle  dew  ; 

And  every  blade  of  grass  I  see, 
From  Thy  deep  earth  its  quickening  moisture 
drew. 

Wilt  Thou  not  visit  me  ? 
Thy  morning  calls  on  me  with  cheering  tone, 

And  every  hill  and  tree 
Lends  but  one  voice,  the  voice  of  Thee  alone. 

Come,  for  I  need  Thy  love, 
More  than  the  flower  the  dew,  or  grass  the  rain  ; 

Come,  gently  as  Thy  holy  dove  ; 
And  let  me  in  Thy  sight  rejoice  to  live  again. 


PRAYER  AND  ASPIRATION,  87 

I  will  not  hide  from  them, 
When  Thy  storms  come,  though  fierce  ma}^  be 
their  wrath  ; 

But  bow  with  leafy  stem, 
And  strengthened  follow  on  Thy  chosen  path. 

Yes   Thou  wilt  visit  me  ; 
Nor  plant  nor  tree  Thine  eye  delights  so  well, 

As  when,  from  sin  set  free. 
My  spirit  loves  with  Thine  in  peace  to  dwell. 

J ONES  Very 

WHOxM   BUT   THEE. 

T7R0M  past  regret  and  present  faithlessness  — 
-^        From  the  deep  shadow  of  foreseen  distress  — 
And  from  the  nameless  weariness  that  grows 
As  life's  long  day  seems  wearing  to  its  close  — 

Thou  Life  within  my  life,  than  self  more  near  ! 

Thou  veiled  Presence  infinitely  clear  ! 
From  all  illusive  shows  of  sense  I  flee 

To  find  my  centre  and  my  rest  in  Thee. 

Below  all  depths  Thy  saving  mercy  hes, 

Through  thickest  glooms  I  see  Thy  light  arise, 

Above  the  highest  heavens  Thou  art  not  found 
More  surely  than  within  this  earthly  round. 

Take  part  with  me  against  these  doubts  that  rise 
And  seek  to  throne  Thee  far  in  distant  skies ! 

Take  part  with  me  against  this  self  that  dares 
Assume  the  burden  of  these  sins  and  cares  I 
7 


88  QUIET  HOURS. 

How  can  I  call  Thee  who  art  always  here  — 

How  shall  I  praise  Thee  who  art  still  most  dear  — 

What  may  I  give  Thee  save  what  Thou  hast  given  — 
And  whom  but  Thee  have  I  in  earth  or  heaven  ? 

Eliza  Scuddbr 


THE   PILLAR   OF   THE   CLOUD. 

r    EAD,  kindly  Light,  amid  the  encircling  gloom, 

■*— '         Lead  Thou  me  on  ! 

The  night  is  dark,  and  I  am  far  from  home  — 

Lead  Thou  me  on  ! 
Keep  Thou  my  feet ;  I  do  not  ask  to  see 
The  distant  scene,  —  one  step  enough  for  me. 

I  was  not  ever  thus,  nor  prayed  that  Thou 

Shouldst  lead  me  on. 
I  loved  to  choose  and  see  my  path,  but  now 

Lead  Thou  me  on  ! 
I  loved  the  garish  day,  and,  spite  of  fears. 
Pride  ruled  my  will :  remember  not  past  years. 

So  long  Thy  power  hath  blest  me,  sure  it  still 

Will  lead  me  on, 
O'er  moor  and  fen,  o'er  crag  and  torrent,  till 

The  night  is  gone  ; 
And  with  the  morn  those  angel  faces  smile 
Which  I  have  loved  long  since,  and  lost  awhile  ! 

John  Henry  Newman,  18.^3 


PRAYER  AND  ASPIRATION,  89 


QUI    LABORAT,    ORAT. 

r\  ONLY  Source  of  all  our  light  and  life, 
^^^     Whom  as  our  truth,  our  strength,  we  see 

and  feel. 
But  whom  the  hours  of  mortal  moral  strife 
Alone  aright  reveal ! 

Mine  inmost  soul,  before  Thee  inly  brought, 
Thy  presence  owns  ineffable,  divine  ; 

Chastised  each  rebel  self-encentred  thought, 
My  will  adoreth  Thine. 

With  eye  down-dropt,  if  then  this  earthly  mind 
Speechless  remain,  or  speechless  e'en  depart ; 

Nor  seek  to  see  —  for  what  of  earthly  kind 
Can  see  Thee  as  Thou  art  ?  — 

If  well-assured  'tis  but  profanely  bold, 

In  thoughts  abstractest  forms  to  seem  to  see, 

It  dare  not  dare  the  dread  communion  hold 
In  ways  unworthy  Thee  ; 

O  not  unowned,  Thou  shalt  unnamed  forgive, 
In  worldly  walks  the  prayerless  heart  prepare  ; 

And  if  in  work  its  life  it  seem  to  live, 
Shalt  make  that  work  be  prayer. 

Nor  times  shall  lack,  when  while  the  work  it  pliesj 
Unsummoned  powers  the  blinding  film  sh.tll 
part, 

And,  scarce  by  happy  tears  made  dim,  the  eyes 
In  recoo:nition  start. 


90  QUIET  HOURS. 

But,  as  Thou  wiliest,  give  or  e*en  forbear 

The  beatific  supersensual  sight, 
So,  with  Thy  blessing  blest,  that  humbler  prayer 
A.pproach  Thee  morn  and  night. 

Arthur  H.  Clough. 


FOR   DIVINE   STRENGTH. 

TI7ATHER,  in  thy  mysterious  presence  kneeling, 
•*•        Fain  would  our  souls  feel  all  thy  kindling  love  ; 
For  we  are  weak  and  need  some  deep  reveaHng 
Of  trust  and  strength  and  calmness  from  above. 

Lord,  we  have  wandered  forth  through  doubt  and 
sorrow. 

And  thou  hast  made  each  step  an  onward  one ; 
And  we  will  ever  trust  each  unknown  morrow — 

Thou  wilt  sustain  us  till  its  work  is  done. 

In  the  heart's  depths  a  peace  serene  and  holy 
Abides  ;  and  when  pain  seems  to  have  her  will, 

Or  we  despair,  oh  !  may  that  peace  rise  slowly, 
Stronger  than  agony,  and  we  be  still. 

Now,  Father  —  now,  in  thy  dear  presence  kneeling, 
Our  spirits  yearn  to  feel  thy  kindling  love  ; 

Now  make  us  strong  —  we  need  thy  deep  revealing 
Of  trust,  and  strength,  and  calmness  from  above. 

Samuel  Johnsom. 


PRAYER  AND  ASPIRATION. 


A   BIRTH-DAY   PRAYER. 

A  RT  Thou  the  Life  ? 
•^^-     To  Thee,  then,  do  I  owe  each  beat  and  brenih, 
And  wait  Thy  ordering  of  the  hour  of  death, 
In  peace  or  strife. 

Art  Thou  the  Light  ? 
To  Thee,  then,  in  the  sunshine  or  the  cloud, 
Or  in  my  chamber  lone  or  in  the  crowd, 

I  lift  my  sight. 

Art  Thou  the  Truth  ? 
To  Thee,  then,  loved  and  craved  and  sought  of  yore, 
I  consecrate  my  manhood  o'er  and  o'er, 

As  once  my  youth. 

Art  Thou  the  Strong  ? 
To  Thee,  then,  though  the  air  is  thick  with  night, 
I  trust  the  seeming-unprotected  Right, 

And  leave  the  Wrong. 

Art  Thou  the  Wise  ? 
To  Thee,  then,  do  I  bring  each  useless  care, 
And  bid  my  soul  unsay  her  idle  prayer. 

And  hush  her  cries. 

Art  Thou  the  Good  ? 
To  Thee,  then,  with  a  thirsting  heart  I  turn, 
And  stand,  and  at  Thy  fountain  hold  my  urn 

As  aye  I  stood. 


92  QUIET  HOURS, 

Forgive  the  call ! 

I  cannot  shut  Thee  from  my  sense  or  soul, 

I  cannot  lose  me  in  the  boundless  whole, — 

For  Thou  art  All ! 

Franus  E.  Abbot 


PRAYER. 

A  T  first  I  prayed  for  sight ; 
-^  ^     Could  I  but  see  the  way, 
How  gladly  would  I  walk 

To  everlasting  day. 
I  asked  the  world's  deep  love. 

Before  my  eyes  to  ope, 
And  let  me  see  my  prayers  fulfilled. 

And  realized,  my  hope  ; 
But  God  was  kinder  than  my  prayer, 
And  mystery  veiled  me,  everywhere. 

And  next,  I  prayed  for  strength, 

That  I  might  tread  the  road 
With  firm,  unfaltering  pace, 

To  Heaven's  serene  abode. 
That  I  might  never  know 

A  faltering,  failing  heart ; 
But  manfully  go  on. 

And  reach  the  highest  part. 
But  God  was  kinder  than  my  prayer, 
And  weakness  checked  me  everywheie. 


PRAYER  AND  ASPIRATION.  93 

j 
And  then,  I  asked  for  faith  ;  \ 

Could  I  but  trust  my  God, 
I'd  live  in  heavenly  peace, 

Though  foes  were  all  abroad.  j 

His  light,  thus  shining  round,  ! 

No  faltering  should  I  know; 
And  faith  in  heaven  above  « 

Would  make  a  heaven  below ; 
But  God  was  kinder  than  my  prayer, 
And  doubts  beset  me  everywhere. 

And  now  I  pray  for  love, 

Deep  love  to  God  and  man  ;  j 

A  love  that  will  not  fail,  j 

However  dark  His  plan. 
That  sees  all  life  in  Him, 

Rejoicing  in  His  power; 
And  faithful,  though  the  darkest  clouds 

Of  gloom  and  doubt  may  lower. 
And  God  was  kinder  than  my  prayer,  ] 

Love  filled,  and  blessed  me,  everywhere.  ■ 

Ednah  D.  Chej^ev  j 


FIRST-DAY  THOUGHTS. 

[N  calm  and  cool  and  silence,  once  again 
^     I  find  my  old  accustomed  place  among 
My  brethren,  w^here,  perchance,  no  human  tongue 
Shall  utter  words  ;  where  never  hymn  is  sung, 
Nor  decD- toned  organ  blown,  nor  censer  swung. 


94  QUIET  HOURS. 

Nor  dim  light  falling  through  the  pictured  pane  ! 

There,  syllabled  by  silence,  let  me  hear 

The  still  small  voice  which  reached  the  prophet's  ear ; 

Read  in  my  heart  a  still  diviner  law 

Than  Israel's  leader  on  his  tables  saw ! 

There  let  me  strive  with  each  besetting  sin, 

Recall  my  wandering  fancies,  and  restrain 

The  sore  disquiet  of  a  restless  brain  ; 

And,  as  the  path  of  duty  is  made  plain, 
May  grace  be  given  that  I  may  walk  therein, 

Not  like  the  hireling,  for  his  selfish  gain. 
With  backward  glances  and  reluctant  tread. 
Making  a  merit  of  his  coward  dread,  — 

But,  cheerful,  in  the  light  around  me  thrown. 

Walking  as  one  to  pleasant  service  led ; 

Doing  God's  will  as  if  it  were  my  own. 
Yet  trusting  not  in  mine,  but  in  his  strength  alone  ! 

J.  G.  Whittier 

"  Whither  shall  I  go  fro7n   Thy  Spirit  ?   or  whither 
shall  I  flee  fro7n  Thy  prese7ice  ?  " 

T  CANNOT  find  Thee  !     Still  on  restless  pinion 
-*-     My  spirit  beats  the  void  where  Thou  dost  dwell ; 
I  wander  lost  through  all  Thy  vast  dominion, 
And  shrink  beneath  Thy  Light  ineffable. 

I  cannot   find  Thee  !     Even  when  most  adoring 
Before  Thy  shrine  I  bend  in  lowliest  prayer ; 
Beyond  these  bounds  of  thought,  my  thought  upsoaring, 
From  furthest  quest  comes  back ;  Thou  art  not  there. 


PRAYER  AND  ASPIRATION.  95 


Yet  high  above  the  limits  of  my  seeing, 

And  folded  far  within  the  inmost  heart, 

And  deep  below  the  deeps  of  conscious  being, 

Thy  splendor  shineth ;  there,  O  God,  Thou  art. 

I  cannot  lose  Thee  !     Still  in  Thee  abiding 
The  End  is  clear,  how  wide  soe'er  I  roam ; 
The  Law  that  holds  the  worlds  my  steps  is  guiding, 
And  I  must  rest  at  last  in  Thee,  my  home. 

£UZA    ScUDDSftt 


TRUST      AND      PEACE. 


LOOKING   UNTO   GOD. 

*  God's  hand  in  all  things,  and  all  things  in  God's  hand. 

T  LOOK  to  Thee  in  every  need, 
-*-     And  never  look  in  vain  ; 
I  feel  Thy  touch,  Eternal  Love, 

And  all  is  well  again  : 
The  thought  of  Thee  is  mightier  far 
Than  sin  and  pain  and  sorrow  are. 

Discouraged  in  the  work  of  life. 

Disheartened  by  its  load, 
Shamed  by  its  failures  or  its  fears, 

I  sink  beside  the  road  ;  — 
But  let  me  only  think  of  Thee, 
And  then  new  heart  springs  up  in  me. 

Thy  calmness  bends  serene  above, 

My  restlessness  to  still ; 
Around  me  flows  Thy  quickening  life, 

To  nerve  my  faltering  will ; 
Thy  presence  fills  my  solitude ; 
Thy  providence  turns  all  to  good. 

Embosomed  deep  in  Thy  dear  love, 
Held  in  Thy  law,  I  stand ; 


TRUST  AND  PEACE,  97 

Thy  hand  in  all  things  I  behold, 

And  all  things  in  Thy  hand  ; 
Thou  leadest  me  by  unsought  ways, 
And  turnest  my  mourning  into  praise. 

Samuel  Longfellow. 


GRATEFULNESSE. 

'npHOU  that  hast  given  so  much  to  me, 
-*■       Give  one  thing  more,  a  gratefull  heart. 

Not  thankfull,  when  it  pleaseth  me. 
As  if  thy  blessings  had  spare  dayes  : 
But  such  a  heart,  whose  pulse  may  be 
Thy  praise. 

George  HERLEkr. 


THE   SON. 

"Tj^ATHER,  I  wait  Thy  word.    The  sun  doth  stand 

■*-       Beneath  the  mingling  line  of  night  and  day, 

A  listening  servant,  waiting  Thy  command 

To  roll  rejoicing  on  its  silent  way ; 

The  tongue  of  time  abides  the  appointed  hour, 

Till  on  our  ear  its  solemn  warnings  fall ; 

The  heavy  cloud  withholds  the  pelting  shower. 

Then  every  drop  speeds  downward  at  Thy  call ; 


98  QUIET  HOURS. 

The  bird  reposes  on  the  yielding  bough, 

With  breast  unswollen  by  the  tide  of  song ; 

So  does  my  spirit  wait  Thy  presence  now 

To  pour  Thy  praise  in  quickening  life  along, 

Chiding  with  voice  divine  man's  lengthened  sleep, 

While  round  the  Unuttered  Word  and  Love  their 

vigils  keep- 

Jones  Very 

ALL'S   WELL. 

OROPHETIC  Hope,  thy  fine  discourse 
-■-        Foretold  not  half  life's  good  to  me  ; 
Thy  painter.  Fancy,  hath  not  force 
To  show  how  sweet  it  is  to  be ! 

Thy  witching  dream 

And  pictured  scheme 
To  match  the  fact  still  want  the  power; 

Thy  promise  brave 

From  birth  to  grave 
Life's  boon  may  beggar  in  an  hour. 

Ask  and  receive,  —  'tis  sweetly  said ; 
Yet  what  to  plead  for  know  I  not ; 
For  Wish  is  worsted,  Hope  o'ersped, 
And  aye  to  thanks  returns  my  thought 

If  I  would  pray, 

I've  naught  to  say 
But  this,  that  God  may  be  God  still, 

For  Him  to  live 

Is  still  to  give, 
And  sweeter  than  my  wish  His  will. 


TRUST  AND  PEACE,  99 

0  wealth  of  life  beyond  all  bound  ! 
Eternity  each  moment  given  ! 

What  plummet  may  the  Present  sound  ? 
Who  promises  2ifuUcre  heaven  ? 

Or  glad,  or  grieved, 

Oppressed,  relieved. 
In  blackest  night,  or  brightest  day, 

Still  pours  the  flood 

Of  golden  good, 
And  more  than  heartfuU  fills  me  aye. 

My  wealth  is  common  ;   I  possess 

No  petty  province,  but  the  whole ; 
What's  mine  alone  is  mine  far  less 
Than  treasure  shared  by  every  soul. 

Talk  not  of  store. 

Millions  or  more,  — 
Of  values  which  the  purse  may  hold,  — 

But  this  divine  ! 

I  own  the  mine 
W^hose  grains  outweigh  a  planet's  gold. 

1  have  a  stake  in  every  star. 

In  every  beam  that  fills  the  day ; 
All  hearts  of  men  my  coffers  are, 
My  ores  arterial  tides  convey ; 
The  fields,  the  skies, 
The  sweet  replies 
Of  thought  to  thought  are  my  gold-dust, — 
The  oaks,  the  brooks, 
And  speaking  looks 
Of  lovers'  faith  and  friendship's  trust. 


lOO  QUIET  HOURS. 

Life's  youngest  tides  joy-brimming  flow 

For  him  who  lives  above  all  years, 
Who  all-immortal  makes  the  Now, 
And  is  not  ta'en  in  Time's  arrears  ; 

His  life's  a  hymn 

The  seraphim 
Might  hark  to  hear  or  help  to  sing, 

And  to  his  soul 

The  boundless  whole 
Its  bounty  all  doth  daily  bring. 

**  All  mine  is  thine,"  the  sky-soul  saith ; 

"  The  wealth  I  am,  must  thou  become  ; 
Richer  and  richer,  breath  by  breath,  — 
Immortal  gain,  immortal  room  !  " 
And  since  all  his 
Mine  also  is, 
Life's  gift  outruns  my  fancies  far, 
And  drowns  the  dream 
In  larger  stream. 
As  morning  drinks  the  morning-star. 

David  A.  Wasson,  1856 


BLEST    BE    THY    LOVE. 


IDLEST  be  thy  love,  dear  Lord, 
^^     That  taught  us  this  sweet  way. 
Only  to  love  Thee  for  Thyself, 
And  for  that  love  obey. 


TRUST  AND  PEACE.  loi 

O  Thou,  our  souls'  chief  hope  ! 

We  to  Thy  mercy  fly  ; 
Where'er  we  are,  Thou  canst  protect, 

Whatever  we  need,  supply. 

Whether  we  sleep  or  wake, 

To  Thee  we  both  resign  ; 
By  night  we  see,  as  well  as  day, 

If  Thy  light  on  us  shine. 

Whether  we  live  or  die, 

Both  we  submit  to  Thee  ; 
In  death  we  live,  as  well  as  life. 

If  Thine  in  death  we  be. 

John  Austin,  1668 


SACRED    JOY. 

r~\  TELL  me  whence  that  joy  doth  spring, 
^-^     Whose  diet  is  divine  and  fair, 
Which  wears  heaven  like  a  bridal  ring, 
And  tramples  on  doubts  and  despair  ? 

Sure,  holyness  the  magnet  is, 

And  love  the  lure  that  woos  thee  down  ; 
Which  makes  the  high  transcendent  bhss 

Of  knowing  thee,  so  rarely  known  ! 

HenrV  Vaughan 


I02  QUIET  HOURS. 


THE   SECRET   OF   CONTENT. 

T3E  thou  content ;  be  still  before 

^^    His  face,  at  whose  right  hand  doth  reign 

Fulness  of  joy  for  evermore, 

Without  whom  all  thy  toil  is  vain. 
He  is  thy  living  spring,  thy  sun,  whose  rays 
Make  glad  with  life  and  light  thy  dreary  days. 
Be  thou  content. 

In  Him  is  comfort,  light,  and  grace, 

And  changeless  love  beyond  our  thought; 
The  sorest  pang,  the  worst  disgrace, 
If  He  is  there,  shall  harm  thee  not. 
He  can  lift  off  thy  cross,  and  loose  thy  bands, 
And  calm  thy  fears,  nay,  death  is  in  His  hands. 
Be  thou  content. 

Or  art  thou  friendless  and  alone, 

Hast  none  in  whom  thou  canst  confide  ? 
God  careth  for  thee,  lonely  one. 
Comfort  and  help  will  He  provide. 
He  sees  thy  sorrows  and  thy  hidden  grief. 
He  knoweth  when  to  send  thee  quick  relief; 
Be  thou  content. 

Thy  heart's  unspoken  pain  He  knows. 
Thy  secret  sighs  He  hears  full  well. 

What  to  none  else  thou  darest  disclose. 
To  Him  thou  mayest  with  boldness  tell; 


TRUST  AND  PEACE.  103 

He  is  not  far  away,  but  ever  nigh, 
And  answereth  willingly  the  poor  man's  cry. 
Be  thou  content. 

Be  not  o'ermastered  by  thy  pain, 

But  cling  to  God,  thou  shalt  not  fall ; 
The  floods  sweep  over  thee  in  vain, 
Thou  yet  shalt  rise  above  them  all ; 
For  when  thy  trial  seems  too  hard  to  bear, 
Lo  !  God,  thy  King,  hath  granted  all  thy  prayer . 
Be  thou  content. 

Why  art  thou  full  of  anxious  fear 

How  thou  shalt  be  sustained  and  fed  ? 
He  who  hath  made  and  placed  thee  here. 
Will  give  thee  needful  daily  bread  ; 
Canst  thou  not  trust  His  rich  and  bounteous  hand, 
Who  feeds  all  living  things  on  sea  and  land  ? 
Be  thou  content. 

He  who  doth  teach  the  little  birds 

To  find  their  meat  in  field  and  wood, 

Who  gives  the  countless  flocks  and  herds 

Each  day,  their  needful  drink  and  food. 

Thy  hunger  too  will  surely  satisfy. 

And  all  thy  wants  in  His  good  time  supply. 

Be  thou  content. 

Sayst  thou,  I  know  not  how  or  where, 

No  help  I  see  where'er  I  turn ; 
When  of  all  else  we  most  despair. 

The  riches  of  God's  love  we  learn ; 

8 


tC4  QUIET  HOURS. 

When  thou  and  I  His  hand  no  longer  trace, 
He  leads  us  forth  into  a  pleasant  place. 

Be  thou  content. 

Though  long  His  promised  aid  delay, 

At  last  it  will  be  surely  sent : 
Though  thy  heart  sink  in  sore  dismay. 
The  trial  for  thy  good  is  meant. 
What  we  have  won  with  pains  we  hold  more  fast, 
What  tarrieth  long  is  sweeter  at  the  last. 

Be  thou  content. 

Lay  not  to  heart  whate'er  of  ill 

Thy  foes  may  falsely  speak  of  thee, 
Let  man  defame  thee  as  he  will, 
God  hears,  and  judges  righteously. 
Why  shouldst  thou  fear,  if  God  be  on  thy  side, 
Man's  cruel  anger,  or  malicious  pride  ? 

Be  thou  content. 

We  know  for  us  a  rest  remains, 

When  God  will  give  us  sweet  release 
From  earth  and  all  our  mortal  chains, 
And  turn  our  sufferings  into  peace. 
Sooner  or  later  death  will  surely  come 
To  end  our  sorrows,  and  to  take  us  home. 
Be  thou  content 

Home  to  the  chosen  ones,  who  here 
Served  their  Lord  faithfully  and  well, 

Who  died  in  peace,  without  a  fear, 
And  there  in  peace  for  ever  dwell ; 


TRUST  AND   FEACE.  105 

The  Everlasting  is  their  joy  and  stay, 
The  Eternal  Word  Himself  to  them  doth  say, 
Be  thou  content. 

Paul  Gerharut,  1670* 


AT    SEA. 

nPHE  night  is  made  for  cooling  shaue, 

-*•       For  silence,  and  for  sleep  ; 
And  when  I  was  a  child,  I  laid 
My  hands  upon  my  breast  and  prayed. 

And  sank  to  slumbers  deep  : 
Childhke  as  then,  I  lie  to-night, 
And  watch  my  lonely  cabin  light. 

Each  movement  of  the  swaying  lamp 

Shows  how  the  vessel  reels : 
As  o'er  her  deck  the  billows  tramp. 
And  all  her  timbers  strain  and  cramp, 

With  every  shock  she  feels. 
It  starts  and  shudders,  while  it  burns, 
And  in  its  hingdd  socket  turns. 

Now  swinging  slow,  and  slanting  low, 

It  almost  level  lies  ; 
And  yet  I  know,  while  to  and  fro 
I  watch  the  seeming  pendule  go 

With  restless  fall  and  rise. 
The  steady  shaft  is  still  upright, 
Poising  its  little  dobe  of  light. 


io6  QUIET  HOURS 

0  hand  of  God !  O  lamp  of  peace ! 

0  promise  of  my  soul !  — 

Though  weak,  and  tossed,  and  ill  at  ease, 
Amid  the  roar  of  smiting  seas, 
The  ship's  convulsive  roll, 

1  own,  with  love  and  tender  awe. 
Yon  perfect  type  of  faith  and  law ! 

A  heavenly  trust  my  spirit  calms, 

My  soul  is  filled  with  light : 
The  ocean  sings  his  solemn  psalms, 
The  wild  winds  chant :   I  cross  my  palms, 

Happy  as  if,  to-night, 
Under  the  cottage-roof,  again 
I  heard  the  soothing  summer-rain. 

J.   T     TROWl^RIDGb; 

MY    PSALM. 

T   MOURN  no  more  my  vanished  j^ears  : 
-*-     Beneath  a  tender  rain. 
An  April  rain  of  smiles  and  tears. 
My  heart  is  young  again. 

The  west  winds  blow,  and,  singing  low, 

1  hear  the  glad  streams  run ; 
The  windows  of  my  soul  I  throw 

Wide  open  to  the  sun. 

No  longer  forward  nor  behind 

I  look  in  hope  or  fear ; 
But,  grateful,  take  the  good  I  find, 

The  best  of  now  and  here. 


TRUST  AND  PEACE.  107 

I  plough  no  more  a  desert  land, 

To  harvest  weed  and  tare  ; 
The  manna  dropping  from  God's  hand 

Rebukes  my  painful  care. 

I  break  my  pilgrim  staff,  —  I  lay 

Aside  the  toiling  oar; 
The  angel  sought  so  far  away 

I  welcome  at  my  door. 

The  airs  of  spring  may  never  play 

Among  the  ripening  corn, 
Nor  freshness  of  the  flowers  of  May 

Blow  through  the  autumn  morn  ; 

Yet  shall  the  blue-eyed  gentian  look 

Through  fringed  lids  to  heaven, 
And  the  pale  aster  in  the  brook 

Shall  see  its  image  given  ;  — 

The  woods  shall  wear  their  robes  of  praise, 

The  south  wind  softly  sigh, 
And  sweet,  calm  days  in  golden  haze 

Melt  down  the  amber  sky. 

Not  less  shall  manly  deed  and  word 

Rebuke  an  age  of  wrong ; 
The  graven  flowers  that  wreathe  the  sword 

Make  not  the  blade  less  strong. 

But  smiting  hands  shall  learn  to  heal,  — 

To  build  as  to  destroy  ; 
Nor  less  my  heart  for  others  feel 

That  I  the  more  enjoy. 


loS  QUIET  HOURS. 

All  as  God  wills,  who  wisely  heeds 

To  give  or  to  withhold, 
And  knoweth  more  of  all  my  needs 

Than  all  my  prayers  have  told  ! 

Enough  that  blessings  undeserved 
Have  marked  my  erring  track  ;  — 

That  wheresoe'er  my  feet  have  swerved. 
His  chastening  turned  me  back  ;  — 

That  more  and  more  a  Providence 

Of  love  is  understood, 
Making  the  springs  of  time  and  sense 

Sweet  with  eternal  good  ;  — 

That  death  seems  but  a  covered  way, 

Which  opens  into  light. 
Wherein  no  bhnded  child  can  stray 

Beyond  the  Father's  sight ;  — 

That  care  and  trial  seem  at  last. 
Through  Memory's  sunset  air. 

Like  mountain-ranges  overpast, 
In  purple  distance  fair  ;  — 

That  all  the  jarring  notes  of  life 
Seem  blending  in  a  psalm, 

And  all  the  angles  of  its  strife 
Slow  rounding  into  calm. 

And  so  the  shadows  fall  apart, 
And  so  the  west  winds  play  ; 

And  all  the  windows  of  my  heart 
I  open  to  the  day. 


John  G.  Whittikr. 


TRUST  AND  PEACE,  lOQ 


UNSEEN. 

T  TOW  do  the  rivulets  find  their  way? 
-■-  ^     How  do  the  flowers  know  the  day, 
And  open  their  cups  to  catch  the  ray  ? 

I  see  the  germ  to  the  sunlight  reach, 

And  the  nestlings  know  the  old  bird's  speech  ; 

I  do  not  see  who  is  there  to  teach. 

I  see  the  hare  from  the  danger  hide, 

And  the  stars  through  the  pathless  spaces  ride ; 

I  do  not  see  that  they  have  a  guide. 

He  is  Eyes  for  All  who  is  eyes  for  the  mole  ; 
All  motion  goes  to  the  rightful  goal ; 
O  God  !   I  can  trust  for  the  human  soul. 

Charles  G.  Amis 
Ly  the  Ammonoosuc,  1862. 


FROM    "THE   xMEETING." 

00  sometimes  comes  to  soul  and  sense 
*^     The  feeling  which  is  evidence 
That  very  near  about  us  lias 
The  realm  of  spiritual  mysteries. 
The  sphere  of  the  supernal  powers 
Impinges  on  this  world  of  ours. 


no  QUIET  HOURS, 

The  low  and  dark  horizon  lifts, 
To  light  the  scenic  terror  shifts  ; 
The  breath  of  a  diviner  air 
Blows  down  the  answer  of  a  prayer :  — 
That  all  our  sorrow,  pain,  and  doubt, 
A  great  compassion  clasps  about, 
And  law  and  goodness,  love  and  force. 
Are  wedded  fast  beyond  divorce. 
Then  duty  leaves  to  love  its  task. 
The  beggar  Self  forgets  to  ask  ; 
With  smile  of  trust  and  folded  hands. 
The  passive  soul  in  waiting  stands 
To  feel,  as  flowers  the  sun  and  dew, 
The  One  true  Life  its  own  renew. 

J.  G.  Whittibs 

"  The  Lord  is  my  portion,  saith  my  soul;  therefore 
will  I  hope  in  Hi7nl!'^  —  Lam.  iii.  24. 

1\ /FY  heart  is  resting,  O  my  God, — 
^  I  will  give  thanks  and  sing  ; 

My  heart  is  at  the  secret  source 

Of  every  precious  thing. 
Now  the  frail  vessel  Thou  hast  made 

No  hand  but  Thine  shall  fill  — 
For  the  waters  of  the  earth  have  failed, 

And  I  am  thirsty  still. 

I  thirst  for  springs  of  heavenly  life. 

And  here  all  day  they  rise  — 
I  seek  the  treasure  of  Thy  love, 

And  close  at  hand  it  lies. 


TRUST  AND  PEACE,  i  1 1 

And  a  new  song  is  in  my  mouth, 

To  long-loved  music  set  — 
Glory  to  Thee  for  all  the  grace 

I  have  not  tasted  yet. 

Glory  to  Thee  for  strength  withheld, 

For  want  and  weakness  known  — 
And  the  fear  that  sends  me  to  Thy  breast 

For  what  is  most  my  own. 
There  is  a  certainty  of  love 

That  sets  my  heart  at  rest  — 
A  calm  assurance  for  to-day 

That  to  be  poor  is  best. 

Mine  be  the  reverent,  listening  love, 

That  waits  all  day  on  Thee, 
With  the  service  of  a  watchful  heart 

Which  no  one  else  can  see  — 
The  faith  that,  in  a  hidden  way 

No  other  eye  may  know, 
Finds  all  its  daily  work  prepared, 

And  loves  to  have  it  so. 

Anna  L    Waking 


SEEN   AND    UNSEEN. 

npHE  wind  ahead,  the  billows  high, 
-*-       A  whited  wave,  but  sable  sky, 
And  many  a  league  of  tossing  sea 
Between  the  hearts  I  love  and  me. 


112  QUIET  HOURS. 

The  wind  ahead  !  day  after  day 
These  weary  words  the  sailors  say  ; 
To  weeks  the  days  are  lengthened  now, — 
Still  mounts  the  surge  to  meet  our  prow. 

Through  lOnging  day  and  lingering  night, 
I  still  accuse  Time's  lagging  flight, 
Or  gaze  out  o'er  the  envious  sea, 
That  keeps  the  hearts  I  love  from  me. 

Yet,  ah  !  how  shallow  is  all  grief! 
How  instant  is  the  deep  relief  I 
And  what  a  hypocrite  am  I, 
To  feign  forlorn,  to  'plain  and  sigh  ! 

The  wind  ahead  ?     The  wind  is  free  ! 
For  evermore  it  favoreth  me,  — 
To  shores  of  God  still  blowing  fair, 
O'er  seas  of  God  my  bark  doth  bear. 

This  surging  brine  /do  not  sail  ; 
This  blast  adverse  is  not  my  gale; 
'Tis  here  I  only  seem  to  be, 
But  really  sail  another  sea,  — 

Another  sea,  pure  sky  its  waves, 
Whose  beauty  hides  no  heaving  graves  ; 
A  sea  all  haven,  whereupon 
No  helpless  bark  to  wreck  hath  gone. 

The  winds  that  o^er  my  ocean  run 
Reach  through  all  worlds  beyond  the  sun  ; 
Through  life  and  death,  through  fate,  through  time, 
Grand  breaths  of  God  they  sweep  sublime. 


1 


TRUST  AND  PEACE.  113 

Eternal  trades,  they  cannot  veer, 
And,  blowing,  teach  us  how  to  steer ; 
And  well  for  him  whose  joy,  whose  care, 
Is  but  to  keep  before  them  fair. 

O  thou  God's  mariner,  heart  of  mine  ! 
Spread  canvas  to  the  airs  divine  ! 
Spread  sail !  and  let  thy  Fortune  be 
Forgotten  in  thy  Destiny. 

For  Destiny  pursues  us  well, 

By  sea,  by  land,  through  heaven  or  hell ; 

It  suffers  Death  alone  to  die, 

Bids  Life  all  change  and  chance  defy. 

Would  earth's  dark  ocean  suck  thee  dowi   •' 
Earth's  ocean  thou,  O  Life  !  shalt  drown  ; 
Shalt  flood  it  with  thy  finer  wave, 
And,  sepulchred,  entomb  thy  grave  ! 

Life  loveth  life  and  good  ;  then  trust 
Wliat  most  the  spirit  would,  it  must : 
Deep  wishes,  in  the  heart  that  be. 
Are  blossoms  of  Necessity. 

A  thread  of  Law  runs  through  thy  prayer, 
Stronger  than  iron  cables  are  ; 
And  Love  and  Longing  toward  her  goal 
Are  pilots  sweet  to  guide  the  soul. 

So  Life  must  live,  and  Soul  must  sail. 
And  Unseen  over  Seen  prevail ; 
And  all  God's  argosies  come  to  shore, 
Let  ocean  smile,  or  rao^e  or  roar. 


114  QUIET  HOURS. 

And  so,  'mid  storm  or  calm,  my  baik 
With  snowy  wake  still  nears  her  mark ; 
Cheerly  the  trades  of  being  blow, 
And  sweeping  down  the  wind  I  go. 

David  A.  Was^^n 


LETTERS. 

TTVERY  day  brings  a  ship, 
-■-^     Every  ship  brings  a  word  ; 
Well  for  those  who  have  no  fear, 
Looking  seaward  well  assured 
That  the  word  the  vessel  brings 
Is  the  word  they  wish  to  hear. 


R.  W.  Faiekson 


HIDDEN   LIFE. 

O INCE  Eden,  it  keeps  the  secret ! 
^^     Not  a  flower  beside  it  knows 
To  distil  from  the  day  the  fragrance 
And  beauty  that  flood  the  rose. 

Silently  speeds  the  secret 

From  the  loving  eye  of  the  sun 

To  the  willing  heart  of  the  flower ; 
The  life  of  the  twain  is  one. 

Folded  within  my  being, 
A  v/onder  to  me  is  taught. 

Too  deep  for  curious  seeing. 
Or  fathom  of  soundino^  thouo^ht 


TRUST  AND  PEACE.  115 

Of  all  sweet  mysteries  holiest ! 

Faded  are  rose  and  sun  ! 
The  Highest  hides  in  the  lowliest : 

My  Father  and  I  are  one. 

Charles  G.  Ames,   1864. 


THE  SECRET  PLACE  OF  THE 
MOST  HIGH. 

npHE  Lord  is  in  His  Holy  Place, 
-■-       In  all  things  near  and  far, 
Shekinah  of  the  snow-flake,  He, 
And  Glory  of  the  star, 
And  Secret  of  the  April-land 
That  stirs  the  field  to  flowers, 
Whose  little  tabernacles  rise 
To  hold  Him  through  the  hours. 

He  hides  Himself  within  the  love 

Of  those  that  we  love  best ; 

The  smiles  and  tones  that  make  our  homes 

Are  shrines  by  Him  possessed. 

He  tents  within  the  lonely  heart 

And  shepherds  every  thought ; 

We  find  Him  not  by  seeking  long, 

We  lose  Him  not  unsought. 

So,  though  we  build  a  Holy  Place 
To  be  our  Sinai-stand, 
The  Holiest  of  Holies  still 
Is  never  made  bv  hand. 


Ii6  QUIET  HOURS, 

Our  Sinai  needs  the  listening  ear, 

Our  Garden  needs  the  vow : 

"  Thy  will  be  done  "  —  and  lo  !  Thy  voice, 

Thy  vision  as  we  bow  ! 

WiLUAM  C.  Gannett 


RECONCILED. 

/^  YEARS,  gone  down  into  the  past ; 
^^     What  pleasant  memories  come  to  me, 
Of  your  untroubled  days  of  peace, 
And  hours  almost  of  ecstasy  ! 

Yet  would  I  have  no  moon  stand  still, 
Where  life's  most  pleasant  valleys  lie  ; 

Nor  wheel  the  planet  of  the  day 

Back  on  his  pathway  through  the  sky. 

For  though,  when  youthful  pleasures  died, 
My  youth  itself  went  with  them,  too  ; 

To-day,  ay  !  even  this  very  hour, 
Is  the  best  time  I  ever  knew. 

Not  that  my  Father  gives  to  me 

More  blessings  than  in  days  gone  by ; 

Dropping  in  my  uplifted  hands 
All  things  for  which  I  blindly  cry : 

But  that  His  plans  and  purposes 

Have  grown  to  me  less  strange  and  dim ; 

And,  where  I  cannot  understand, 
I  trust  the  issues  unto  Him. 


TRUST  AND  PEACE.  i  i  7 

And,  spite  of  many  broken  dreams, 
This  have  I  truly  learned  to  say, — 

The  prayers,  I  thought  unanswered  once, 
Were  answered  in  God's  own  best  way. 

And  though  some  dearly  cherished  hopes 

Perished  untimely  ere  their  birth, 
Yet  have  I  been  beloved  and  blessed 

Beyond  the  measure  of  my  worth. 

And  sometimes  in  my  hours  of  grief 
For  moments  I  have  come  to  stand 

Where,  in  the  sorrows  on  me  laid, 
I  felt  a  loving  Father's  hand. 

And  I  have  learned,  the  weakest  ones 
Are  kept  securest  from  life's  harms  ; 

And  that  the  tender  lambs  alone 

Are  carried  in  the  shepherd's  arms  — 

And,  sitting  by  the  way-side  bHnd, 

He  is  the  nearest  to  the  Hght, 
Who  crieth  out  most  earnestly, 

"  Lord,  that  I  might  receive  my  sight ! " 

O  feet,  grown  weary  as  ye  walk, 

Where  down  life's  hill  my  pathway  lies, 

What  care  I,  while  my  soul  can  mount, 
As  the  young  eagle  mounts  the  skies  ! 

O  eyes,  with  weeping  faded  out. 

What  matters  it  how  dim  ye  be? 
My  inner  vision  sweeps  untired 

The  reaches  of  eternitv  ! 


Il8  QUIET  HOURS. 

O  death,  most  dreaded  power  of  all, 

When  the  last  moment  comes,  and  thou 

Darkenest  the  windows  of  my  soul, 
Through  which  I  look  on  Nature  now ; 

Yea,  when  mortality  dissolves, 

Shall  I  not  meet  thine  hour  unawed  ? 

My  house  eternal  in  the  heavens 
Is  hghted  by  the  smile  of  God  ! 


Phcebe  Gary. 


A    SONG    OF    TRUST. 

r\  LOVE  Divine,  of  all  that  is 
^^     The  sweetest  still  and  best, 
Fain  would  I  come  and  rest  to-night 
Upon  Thy  tender  breast ; 

As  tired  of  sin  as  any  child 

Was  ever  tired  of  play, 
When  evening's  hush  has  folded  in 

The  noises  of  the  day ; 

When  just  for  very  weariness 

The  little  one  will  creep 
Into  the  arms  that  have  no  joy 

Like  holding  him  in  sleep  ; 

And  looking  upward  to  Thy  face. 
So  gentle,  sweet,  and  strong. 

In  all  its  looks  for  those  who  love, 
So  pitiful  of  wrong. 


TRUST  AND  PEACE,  1 19 

I  pray  Thee  turn  me  not  away, 

For,  sinful  though  I  be, 
Thou  knowest  every  thing  I  need 

And  all  my  need  of  Thee. 

And  yet  the  spirit  in  my  heart 

Says,  Wherefore  should  I  pray 
That  Thou  shouldst  seek  me  with  Thy  love, 

Since  Thou  dost  seek  alway  ? 

And  dost  not  even  wait  until 

I  urge  my  steps  to  Thee ; 
But  in  the  darkness  of  my  life 

Art  coming  still  to  me. 

I  pray  not,  then,  because  I  would ; 

I  pray  because  I  must; 
There  is  no  meaning  in  my  prayer 

But  thankfulness  and  trust. 

I  would  not  have  Thee  otherwise 

Than  what  Thou  ever  art ; 
Be  still  Thyself,  and  then  I  know 

We  cannot  live  apart. 

But  still  Thy  love  will  beckon  me 
And  still  Thy  strength  will  come, 

In  many  ways,  to  bear  me  up 
And  bring  me  to  my  home. 

And  Thou  wilt  hear  the  thought  I  mean, 

And  not  the  words  I  say  ; 
Wilt  hear  the  thanks  among  the  words 

That  only  seem  to  pray ; 


'20  QUIET  HOURS. 

As  if  Thou  wert  not  always  good, 

As  if  Thy  loving  care 
Could  ever  miss  me  in  the  midst 

Of  this  Thy  temple  fair. 

For,  if  I  ever  doubted  Thee, 

How  could  I  any  more  ! 
This  very  night  my  tossing  bark 

Has  reached  the  happy  shore  ; 

And  still,  for  all  my  sighs,  my  heart 

Has  sung  itself  to  rest, 

O  Love  Divine,  most  far  and  near, 

Upon  Thy  tender  breast. 

John  W.  Chadwtck 


THE    SHADOW    AND    THE    LIGHT. 

A  H,  me  !  we  doubt  the  shining  skies 
^  ^     Seen  through  our  shadows  of  offence, 
And  drown  with  our  poor  childish  cries 
The  cradle-hymn  of  kindly  Providence. 

And  still  we  love  the  evil  cause. 
And  of  the  just  effect  complain  ; 

We  tread  upon  life's  broken  laws. 
And  murmur  at  our  self-inflicted  pain  ; 

We  turn  us  from  the  light,  and  find 
Our  spectral  shapes  before  us  thrown. 

As  they  who  leave  the  sun  behind 

Walk  in  the  shadows  of  themselves  alone 


TRUST  AND  PEACE,  i2l 

Oh,  Love  Divine  !  —  whose  constant  beam 
Shines  on  the  eyes  that  will  not  see, 

And  waits  to  bless  us,  while  we  dream 
Thou  leavest  us  because  we  turn  from  thee  ! 

All  souls  that  struggle  and  aspire, 
All  hearts  of  prayer  by  thee  are  lit  ; 

And,  dim  or  clear,  thy  tongues  of  fire 

On  dusky  tribes  and  twilight  centuries  sit. 

Nor  bounds,  nor  clime,  nor  creed  thou  know'st, 

Wide  as  our  needs  thy  favors  fall ; 
The  white  wings  of  the  Holy  Ghost 

Stoop,  seen  or  unseen,  o'er  the  heads  of  all. 

John  G.  Whittibr. 


CHEARFULNESS. 

T    ORD,  with  what  courage  and  delight 

-■-^         I  doe  each  thing, 

When  thy  least  breath  sustaines  my  wing ! 

I  shine  and  move 

Like  those  above, 

And,  with  much  gladnesse 

Quitting  sadnesse, 
Make  me  faire  dayes  of  every  night. 

Henry  Vaugiiaw 


122 


QUIRT  HOURS. 


THE    LOVE    OF    GOD. 


npHOU  Grace  Divine,  encircling  all, 

-■-       A  soundless,  shoreless  sea  ! 
Wherein  at  last  our  souls  must  fall, 
O  Love  of  God  most  free  ! 

When  over  dizzy  heights  we  go, 

One  soft  hand  blinds  our  eyes. 
The  other  leads  us,  safe  and  slow, 

O  Love  of  God  most  wise  ! 

And  though  we  turn  us  from  Thy  face, 

And  wander  wide  and  long. 
Thou  hold'st  us  still  in  Thine  embrace, 

O  Love  of  God  most  strong ! 

The  saddened  heart,  the  restless  soul, 

The  toil-worn  frame  and  mind, 
Alike  confess  Thy  sweet  control, 

O  Love  of  God  most  kind ! 

But  not  alone  Thy  care  we  claim. 

Oar  wayward  steps  to  win  : 
We  know  Thee  by  a  dearer  name, 

O  Love  of  God  within  ! 

And  filled  and  quickened  by  Thy  breath, 

Our  souls  are  strong  and  free 
To  rise  o^er  sin  and  fear  and  death, 

O  Love  of  God,  to  Thee  ! 

Eliza  Scuddhr, 


TRUST  AND  PEACE.  123 


THE    ETERNAL    GOODNESS. 

T  SEE  the  wrong  that  round  me  lies, 
-*■     I  feel  the  guilt  within  ; 
I  hear,  with  groan  and  travail-cries, 
The  world  confess  its  sin  : 

Yet,  in  the  maddening  maze  of  things. 
And  tossed  by  storm  and  flood, 

To  one  fixed  stake  my  spirit  clings  ; 
I  know  that  God  is  good  ! 

Not  mine  to  look  where  cherubim 

And  seraphs  may  not  see, 
But  nothing  can  be  good  in  Him 

Which  evil  is  in  me. 

The  wrong  that  pains  my  soul  below 

I  dare  not  throne  above ; 
I  know  not  of  His  hate,  —  I  know 

His  goodness  and  His  love. 

I  dimly  guess  from  blessings  known 

Of  greater  out  of  sight. 
And,  with  the  chastened  Psalmist,  own 

His  judgments  too  are  right. 

I  long  for  household  voices  gone, 
For  vanished  smiles  I  long, 

But  God  hath  led  my  dear  ones  on, 
And  He  can  do  no  wrong. 


124  QUIET  HOURS, 

I  know  not  what  the  future  hath 

Of  marvel  or  surprise, 
Assured  alone  that  life  and  death 

His  mercy  underlies. 

And  if  my  heart  and  flesh  are  weak 
To  bear  an  untried  pain, 

The  bruised  reed  He  will  not  break, 
But  strengthen  and  sustain. 

No  offering  of  my  own  I  have. 
Nor  works  my  faith  to  prove  : 

I  can  but  give  the  gifts  He  gave. 
And  plead  His  love  for  love. 

And  so  beside  the  Silent  Sea 

I  wait  the  muffled  oar ; 
N<5  harm  from  Him  can  come  to  me 

On  ocean  or  on  shore. 

I  know  not  where  His  islands  lift 
Their  fronded  palms  in  air  ; 

I  only  know  I  cannot  drift 
Beyond  His  love  and  care. 


John  G.  Whittikx 


TRUST  AND  PEACE,  125 


HYMN    FOR    THE    MOTHER. 

TV  TY  child  is  lying  on  my  knees  ; 
^^     The  signs  of  heaven  she  reads ; 
My  face  is  all  the  heaven  she  sees, 
Is  all  the  heaven  she  needs. 

And  she  is  well,  yea,  bathed  in  bliss. 

If  heaven  is  in  my  face, — 
Behind  it  is  all  tenderness 

And  truthfulness  and  grace. 

I  mean  her  well  so  earnestly. 
Unchanged  in  changing  mood  ; 

My  life  would  go  without  a  sigh 
To  bring  her  something  good. 

I  also  am  a  child,  and  I 

Am  ignorant  and  weak  ; 
I  gaze  upon  the  starry  sky, 

And  then  I  must  not  speak ; 

For  all  behind  the  starry  sky, 

Behind  the  world  so  broad. 
Behind  men's  hearts  and  souls  doth  lie 

The  Infinite  of  God. 

If  true  to  her,  though  troubled  sore, 

I  cannot  choose  but  be. 
Thou  who  art  peace  for  evermore, 

Art  very  true  to  me. 


126  QUIET  HOURS. 

If  I  am  low  and  sinful,  bring 
More  love  where  need  is  rife ; 

Thou  knowest  what  an  awful  thing 
It  is  to  be  a  hfe. 

Hast  Thou  not  wisdom  to  enwrap 
My  waywardness  about, 

In  doubting  safety  on  the  lap 
Of  Love  that  knows  no  doubt  ? 

Lo  !  Lord,  I  sit  in  Thy  wide  space, 
My  child  upon  my  knee  ; 

She  looketh  up  unto  my  face, 
And  I  look  up  to  Thee. 


Georgb  MacDonaid 


THE    WILL    OF    GOD. 

T  WORSHIP  thee,  sweet  Will  of  God  ! 
•*■     And  all  thy  ways  adore. 
And,  every  day  I  live,  I  seem 
To  love  thee  more  and  more. 

When  obstacles  and  trials  seem 

Like  prison-walls  to  be, 
I  do  the  little  I  can  do. 

And  leave  the  rest  to  thee. 

I  know  not  what  it  is  to  doubt, 

My  heart  is  ever  gay  ; 
I  run  no  risk,  for,  come  what  will, 

Thou  always  hast  thy  way. 


TRUST  AND  PEACE.  12-] 

I  have  no  cares,  O  blessed  Will ! 

For  all  my  cares  are  thine ; 
I  live  in  triumph,  Lord  !  for  thou 

Hast  made  thy  triumphs  mine. 

And  when  it  seems  no  chance  or  change 

From  grief  can  set  me  free, 
Hope  finds  its  strength  in  helplessness. 

And  gaily  waits  on  thee. 

He  always  wins  who  sides  with  God, 

To  him  no  chance  is  lost ; 
God's  will  is  sweetest  to  him  when 

It  triumphs  at  his  cost. 

Ill  that  He  blesses  is  our  good, 

And  unblest  good  is  ill ; 
And  all  is  right  that  seems  most  wrong, 

If  it  be  His  sweet  Will ! 

F.  W.  Fabkr. 


FROM    "IN    MEMORIAM." 

LIII. 

OYET  we  trust  that  somehow  good 
5     Will  be  the  final  goal  of  ill, 
To  pangs  of  nature,  sins  of  will, 
Defects  of  doubt,  and  taints  of  blood  ; 


128  QUIET  HOURS. 

That  nothing  walks  with  aimless  feet ; 
That  not  one  life  shall  be  destroyed, 
Or  cast  as  rubbish  to  the  void, 

When  God  hath  made  the  pile  complete ; 

That  not  a  worm  is  cloven  in  vain  ; 
That  not  a  moth  with  vain  desire 
Is  shrivelled  in  a  fruitless  fire, 

Or  but  subserves  another's  gain. 

Behold  !  we  know  not  any  thing ; 
I  can  but  trust  that  good  shall  fall 
At  last,  —  far  off,  —  at  last,  to  all, 

And  every  winter  change  to  spring. 

So  runs  my  dream  :  but  what  am  I  ? 
An  infant  crying  in  the  night : 
An  infant  crying  for  the  light : 

And  with  no  language  but  a  cry. 

Alfred  Tennyson 


COMPENSATION. 

'T^EARS  wash  away  the  atoms  in  the  eye 

-*"       That  smarted  for  a  day : 
Rain-clouds  that  spoiled  the  splendors  of  the  sky 
The  fields  with  flowers  array. 

No  chamber  of  pain  but  has  some  hidden  door 

That  promises  release : 
No  solitude  so  drear  but  yields  its  store 

Of  thought  and  inward  peace. 


TRUST  AND  PEACE,  129 

No  night  so  wild  but  brings  the  constant  sun 

With  love  and  power  untold  : 
No  time  so  dark  but  through  its  woof  there  run 

Some  blessed  threads  of  gold. 

And  through  the  long  and  storm-tost  centuries  burn, 

In  changing  calm  and  strife, 
The  Pharos-lights  of  truth,  where'er  we  turn  — 

The  unquenched  lamps  of  life. 

O  Love  supreme  —  O  Providence  divine  ! 

What  self-adjusting  springs 
Of  law  and  life  —  what  even  scales  are  thine: 

What  sure-returning  wings 

Of  hopes  and  joys  that  flit  like  birds  away 

When  chilling  autumn  blows, 
But  come  again,  long  ere  the  buds  of  May 

Their  rosy  lips  unclose  ! 

What  wondrous  play  of  mood  and  accident, 

Through  shifting  days  and  years  ! 
What  fresh  returns  of  vigor  over-spent 

In  feverish  dreams  and  fears  ! 

What  wholesome  air  of  conscience  and  of  thought. 

When  doubts  and  forms  oppress  : 
What  vistas  opening  to  the  gates  we  sought 

Beyond  the  wilderness  — 

Beyond  the  narrow  cells  where,  self-involved, 

Like  chrysalids  we  wait 
The  unknown  births,  the  mysteries  unsolved 

Of  death  and  chano^e  and  fate  1 


I30  QUIET  HOURS. 

O  Light  Divine  !  we  need  no  fuller  test 

That  all  is  ordered  well. 
We  know  enough  to  trust  that  all  is  best 

Where  Love  and  Wisdom  dwell. 


C    p.    CBANC3I 


SUBMISSION, 


Deep  callcthuntD  deep  at  the  noise  of  Thy  water-spouts:  all  'Ihy 
waves  and  Thy  billows  are  gone  over  me.  Yet  the  Lord  will  com- 
mand His  loving  kindness  in  the  day-time,  and  in  the  night  His 
sonfT  slial  be  with  me,  and  my  prayer  unto  the  God  of  my  life." 

Psalm  xlii.  7,  & 

/^^  O  not  far  from  me,  O  my  Strength, 
^^     Whom  all  my  times  obey  ; 
Take  from  me  any  thing  Thou  wilt, 

But  go  not  Thou  away,  — 
And  let  the  storm  that  does  Thy  work 

Deal  with  me  as  it  may. 

On  Thy  compassion  I  repose, 

In  weakness  and  distress: 
I  will  not  ask  for  greater  ease, 

Lest  I  should  love  Thee  less ; 
O,  'tis  a  blessed  thing  for  me 

To  need  Thy  tenderness. 

Thy  love  has  many  a  lighted  path. 

No  outward  eye  can  trace, 
And  my  heart  sees  Thee  in  the  deep, 

With  darkness  on  its  face. 
And  communes  with  Thee,  'mid  the  stornij 

As  in  a  secret  place. 


132  QUIET  HOURS, 

When  I  am  feeble  as  a  child, 
And  flesh  and  heart  give  way, 

Then  on  Thy  everlasting  strength, 
With  passive  trust  I  stay, 

And  the  rough  wind  becomes  a  sonor, 
The  darkness  shines  like  day. 

No  suffering  while  it  lasts  is  joy. 

How  blest  soe'er  it  be  — 
Yet  may  the  chastened  child  be  glad 

His  Father's  face  to  see  ; 
And,  oh,  it  is  not  hard  to  bear, 

What  must  be  borne  in  Thee. 

Safe  in  Thy  sanctifying  grace, 

Almighty  to  restore  — 
Borne  onward  —  sin  and  death  behind, 

And  love  and  life  before  — 
Oh,  let  my  soul  abound  in  hope, 

And  praise  Thee  more  and  more ! 

Deep  unto  deep  may  call,  but  I 
With  peaceful  heart  will  say  — 

Thy  loving-kindness  hath  a  charge 
No  waves  can  take  away ; 

And  let  the  storm  that  speeds  me  home. 
Deal  with  me  as  it  may. 

Anna  L.  Waring 


SUBMISSION.  '  33 


JOY    AFTER    SORROW. 

/^OMETH  sunshine  after  rain, 

^-^     After  mourning,  joy  again, 

After  heavy  bitter  grief 

Dawneth  surely  sweet  relief; 

And  my  soul,  who  from  her  height 
Sank  to  realms  of  woe  and  night, 
Wingeth  now  to  heaven  her  flight. 

None  was  ever  left  a  prey, 
None  was  ever  turned  away, 
Who  had  given  himself  to  God, 
And  on  Him  had  cast  his  load. 

Who  in  God  his  hope  hath  placed 
Shall  not  life  in  pain  outwaste, 
Fullest  joy  he  yet  shall  taste. 

Though  to-day  may  not  fulfil 
All  thy  hopes,  have  patience  still. 
For  perchance  to-morrow's  sun 
Sees  thy  happier  days  begun  ; 

As  God  willeth,  march  the  hours, 
Bringing  joy  at  last  in  showers, 
When  whate'er  we  asked  is  ours. 

Every  sorrow,  every  smart, 
That  the  Eternal  Father's  heart 
Hath  appointed  me  of  yore, 
Or  hath  yet  for  me  in  store. 


134 


QUIET  HOURS. 


As  my  life  flows  on,  I'll  take 
Calmly,  gladly,  for  His  sake, 
No  more  faithless  murmurs  make. 

I  will  meet  distress  and  pain, 

I  will  greet  e'en  Death's  dark  reign, 

I  will  lay  me  in  the  grave, 

With  a  heart  still  glad  and  brave  ; 

Whom  the  Strongest  doth  defend. 
Whom  the  Highest  counts  His  friend, 
Cannot  perish  in  the  end. 

Paul  Gerhardt,  1606-1676 


"/,  even  /,  am  He  that  comforteth  your —  Is  A.  ii.  12, 

O  WEET  is  the  solace  of  Thy  love, 
*^     My  Heavenly  Friend,  to  me, 
While  through  the  hidden  way  of  faith 

I  journey  home  with  Thee, 
Learning  by  quiet  thankfulness 

As  a  dear  child  to  be. 


Though  from  the  shadow  of  Thy  peace 

My  feet  would  often  stray. 
Thy  mercy  follows  all  my  steps. 

And  will  not  turn  away ; 
Yea,  Thou  wilt  comfort  me  at  last, 

As  none  beneath  Thee  may. 


SUBMISSION,  f35 

Oft  in  a  dark  and  lonely  place, 

I  hush  my  hastened  breath, 
To  hear  the  comfortable  words 

Thy  loving  Spirit  saith  : 
And  feel  my  safety  in  Thy  hand 

From  every  kind  of  death. 

O  there  is  nothing  in  the  world 

To  weigh  against  Thy  will ; 
Even  the  dark  times  I  dread  the  most 

Thy  covenant  fulfil ; 
And  when  the  pleasant  morning  dawns 

I  find  Thee  with  me  still. 

Then  in  the  secret  of  my  soul, 

Though  hosts  my  peace  invade, 
Though  through  a  waste  and  weary  land 

My  lonely  way  be  made, 
Thou,  even  Thou,  wilt  comfort  me  — 

I  need  not  be  afraid. 

Still  in  the  solitary  place 

I  would  awhile  abide, 
Till  with  the  solace  of  Thy  love 

My  heart  is  satisfied  ; 
And  all  my  hopes  of  happiness 

Stay  calmly  at  Thy  side. 

Anna  L.  WAKora 


13^  QUIET  HOURS, 


SONNET. 

A  iTOURNER,  that  dost  deserve  thy  mournfulness, 
■^^     Call  thyself  punished,  call  the  earth  thy  hell ; 

Say,  *'  God  is  angry,  and  I  earned  it  well ; 
I  would  not  have  Him  smile  and  not  redress." 
Say  this,  and  straightway  all  thy  grief  grows  less. 

"  God  rules  at  least,  I  find,  as  prophets  tell. 

And  proves  it  in  this  prison."     Straight  thy  cell 
Smiles  with  an  unsuspected  lovehness. 
—  "A  prison,  — and  yet  from  door  and  window-bar 

I  catch  a  thousand  breaths  of  His  sweet  air  ; 

Even  to  me,  His  days  and  nights  are  fair  ; 
He  shows  me  many  a  flower,  and  many  a  star ; 
And  though  I  mourn,  and  He  is  very  far. 

He  does  not  kill  the  hope  that  reaches  there." 

Anon.     From  '^ Adela  Cathcan 


A    LITTLE   BIRD    I    AM. 

Written  daring  ten  years'  imprisonment  in  the  Bastille. 

A     LITTLE  bird  I  am, 
■^  ^     Shut  from  the  fields  of  air ; 
And  in  my  cage  I  sit  and  sing 

To  Him  who  placed  me  there ; 
Well  pleased  a  prisoner  to  be. 
Because,  my  God,  it  pleases  Thee  ! 


SUBMISSION,  137 

Naught  have  I  else  to  do  ; 

I  sing  the  whole  day  long  ; 
And  He  whom  most  I  love  to  please 

Doth  listen  to  my  song  ; 
He  caught  and  bound  my  wandering  wing, 
But  still  He  bends  to  hear  me  sing. 

Thou  hast  an  ear  to  hear, 

A  heart  to  love  and  bless  ; 
And  though  my  notes  w^ere  e'er  so  rude. 

Thou  wouldst  not  hear  the  less  ; 
Because  Thou  knowest,  as  they  fall, 
That  love,  sweet  love,  inspires  them  all. 

My  cage  confines  me  round  ; 

Abroad  I  cannot  fly  ; 
But  though  my  wing  is  closely  bound, 

My  heart's  at  liberty  ; 
My  prison  walls  cannot  control 
The  flight,  the  freedom  of  the  soul. 

O,  it  is  good  to  soar 

These  bolts  and  bars  above, 
To  Him  whose  purpose  I  adore, 

Whose  providence  I  love  ; 
And  in  Thy  mighty  will  to  find 
The  jo}-,  the  freedom,  of  the  mind. 

Madamh  Guyon,  1648-171; 


138  QUIET  HOURS. 


THE    WISH    OF    TO-DAY. 

T  ASK  not  now  for  gold  to  gild 
■*-     With  mocking  shine  a  weary  frame  • 
The  yearning  of  the  mind  is  stilled  — 
I  ask  not  now  for  Fame. 

A  rose-cloud,  dimly  seen  above, 

Melting  in  heaven's  blue  depths  away- 

0  !  sweet,  fond  dream  of  human  Love ! 
For  thee  I  may  not  pray. 

But,  bowed  in  lowliness  of  mind, 
I  make  my  humble  wishes  known  — 

1  only  ask  a  will  resigned, 

0  Father,  to  thine  own  ! 

To-day,  beneath  thy  chastening  eye, 

1  crave  alone  for  peace  and  rest, 
Submissive  in  thy  hand  to  lie, 

And  feel  that  it  is  best. 

A  marvel  seems  the  Universe, 
A  miracle  our  Life  and  Death  ; 

A  mystery  which  I  cannot  pierce. 
Around,  above,  beneath. 

In  vain  I  task  my  aching  brain. 
In  vain  the  sage's  thought  I  scan ; 

I  only  feel  how  weak  and  vain. 
How  poor  and  blind,  is  man ! 


SUBMISSIOA.  139 

And  now  my  spirit  sighs  for  home, 
And  longs  for  light  whereby  to  see, 

And  like  a  weary  child,  would  come, 
O  Father,  unto  thee  ! 

Though  oft,  like  letters  traced  on  sand, 
My  weak  resolves  have  passed  away, 

In  mercy  lend  thy  helping  hand 
Unto  my  prayer  to-day. 

John  G.  WHiTTia* 


RABIA.* 

"D  OUND  holy  Rabia's  suffering  bed 

^^     The  wise  men  gathered,  gazing  gravely  — 

"  Daughter  of  God  !  "  the  youngest  said, 

"  Endure  thy  Father's  chastening  bravely  ; 
They  who  have  steeped  their  souls  in  prayer, 
Can  every  anguish  calmly  bear.'' 

She  answered  not,  and  turned  aside, 
Though  not  reproachfully  nor  sadly  ; 

"  Daughter  of  God  !  "  the  eldest  cried, 
"  Sustain  thy  Father's  chastening  gladly  ; 

They  who  have  learned  to  pray  aright, 

From  pain's  dark  well  draw  up  dehght." 

Then  spake  she  out,  —  "  Your  words  are  fair  ; 
But,  oh,  the  truth  lies  deeper  still ; 

•  A  holy  Arabian  woman,  who  lived  in  the  second  century   of  tht 
f.Iegira- 


140  QUIET  HOURS. 

I  know  not,  when  absorbed  in  prayer, 

Pleasure  or  pain,  or  good  or  ill ; 
They  who  God's  face  can  understand, 
Feel  not  the  workings  of  His  hand." 

From  ^^  Palm  Leaves^"*  by  Lord  Houghtok 


MADE    PERFECT    THROUGH    SUFFERIN(i 

T  BLESS  Thee,  Lord,  for  sorrows  sent 
-*•     To  break  my  dream  of  human  power  ; 
For  now  my  shallow  cistern's  spent, 
I  find  Thy  founts,  and  thirst  no  more. 

I  take  Thy  hand,  and  fears  grow  still ; 
Behold  Thy  face,  and  doubts  remove  ; 
Who  would  not  yield  his  wavering  will 
To  perfect  Truth,  and  boundless  Love  ? 

That  Love  this  restless  soul  doth  teach 
The  strength  of  Thine  eternal  calm ; 
And  tune  its  sad  and  broken  speech, 
To  join,  on  earth,  the  angels'  psalm. 

O  be  it  patient  in  Thy  hands. 
And  drawn,  through  each  mysterious  hour, 
To  service  of  Thy  pure  commands, 
The  narrow  way  to  Love  and  Power ! 

Samuel  Johnson 


SUBMISSION,  141 


FIRST   SUNDAY   AFTER    EASTER. 

TT  THEN  sorrow  all  our  heart  would  ask, 

^  ^     We  need  not  shun  our  daily  task, 

And  hide  ourselves  for  calm  ; 

Tlie  herbs  we  seek  to  heal  our  woe 

Familiar  by  our  pathway  grow, 

Our  common  air  is  balm. 

John  Kebls 


REST.  ' 

I 

T  LAY  me  down  to  sleep,  1 

-*-     With  little  thought  or  care  ; 

Whether  my  waking  find  •    i 

Me  here,  or  diere. 


A  bowing,  burdened  head, 
That  only  asks  to  rest, 

Unquestioning,  upon 
A  loving  breast. 

My  good  right  hand  forgets 

Its  cunning  now; 
To  march  the  weary  march 

I  know  not  how. 

I  am  not  eager,  bold, 

Nor  strong  —  all  that  is  past; 
I  am  ready  not  to  do 

At  last,  at  last. 


142  QUIET  HOURS. 

My  half  day's  work  is  done, 

And  this  is  all  my  part ; 
I  give  a  patient  God 

My  patient  heart, 

And  grasp  His  banner  still, 

Though  all  its  blue  be  dim  ; 

These  stripes,  no  less  than  stars, 

Lead  after  Him. 

Anom 


LOVE   AND   DISCIPLINE. 

O INCE  in  a  land  not  barren  still, 

*^     Because  thou  dost  thy  grace  distill. 

My  lot  is  fallen,  blest  be  thy  will ! 

And  since  these  biting  frosts  but  kill 
Some  tares  in  me  which  choke  or  spill 
That  seed  thou  sow'st,  blest  be  thy  skill ! 

Blest  be  thy  dew,  and  blest  thy  frost. 

And  happy  I  to  be  so  crost, 

And  cured  by  crosses  at  thy  cost. 

The  dew  doth  cheer  what  is  distrest, 
The  frosts  ill  weeds  nip  and  molest. 
In  both  thou  work'st  unto  the  best. 

Thus,  while  thy  several  mercies  plot, 
And  work  on  me  now  cold,  now  hot, 
The  work  goes  on,  and  slacketh  not ; 


SUBMISSION.  143 

For  as  thy  hand  the  weather  steers, 
So  thrive  I  best  'twixt  joyes  and  tears, 
And  all  the  year  have  some  green  ears. 

Henry  Vaughan,  1621-169% 


PEACE    IN   TROUBLE. 

TTTHAT  within  me  and  without, 
^  ^      Hourly  on  my  spirit  weighs, 
Burdening  heart  and  soul  with  doubt, 

Darkening  all  my  weary  days  : 
In  it  I  behold  Thy  will, 

God.  who  givest  rest  and  peace. 
And  my  heart  is  calm  and  still, 

Waiting  till  Thou  send  release. 

When  my  trials  tarry  long. 

Unto  Thee  I  look  and  wait, 
Knowing  none,  though  keen  and  strong, 

Can  my  faith  in  Thee  abate. 
O  my  soul,  why  art  thou  vexed  1 

Let  things  go  e'en  as  they  will ; 
Though  to  thee  they  seem  perplexed. 

Yet  His  order  they  fulfil. 

Yea,  on  Thee,  my  God,  I  rest, 

Letting  life  float  calmly  on, 
For  I  know  the  last  is  best, 

When  the  crown  of  joy  is  won. 


144  QUIET  HOURS, 

In  Thy  might  all  things  I  bear, 
In  Thy  love  find  bitter  sweet, 

And,  with  all  my  grief  and  care, 
Sit  in  patience  at  Thy  feet. 

Let  Thy  mercy's  wings  be  spread 

O'er  me,  keep  me  close  to  Thee ; 
In  the  peace  Thy  love  doth  shed, 

Let  me  dwell  eternally. 
Be  my  All ;  in  all  I  do 

Let  me  only  seek  Thy  will ; 
Where  the  heart  to  Thee  is  true, 

All  is  peaceful,  calm,  and  still. 

A.  H.  Francke,  i663-)7a7 


REST. 

TT  was  Thy  will,  my  Father, 
-■-     That  laid  Thy  servant  low  ; 
It  was  Thy  hand,  my  Father, 

That  dealt  the  chastening  blow  ; 
It  was  Thy  mercy  bid  me  rest 

My  weary  soul  awhile. 
And  every  blessing  I  receive 

Reflects  Thy  gracious  smile. 

It  is  Thy  care,  my  Father, 
That  cherishes  me  now  ; 

It  is  Thy  peace,  my  Father, 
That  rests  upon  my  brow  ; 


SUBMISSION.  1 45 

It  is  Thy  truth,  Thy  truth  alone, 

That  gives  my  spirit  rest. 
And  soothes  me  like  a  happy  child 

Upon  its  mother's  breast. 

I  have  known  youth,  my  Father, 

Bright  as  a  summer's  day, 
And  earthly  love,  my  Father, 

But  that  too  passed  av^ay  ; 
Now  life's  small  taper  faintly  burns, 

A  little  flickering  flame, 
But  Thine  eternal  love  remains 

Unchangeably  the  same. 

EUPHEMIA   SaXBY. 


HYMN    FOR    SICKNESS. 

r~^  OD  !  whom  I  as  love  have  known, 

^^     Thou  hast  sickness  laid  on  me, 

And  these  pains  are  sent  of  Thee, 

Under  which  I  burn  and  moan  ; 

All  that  plagues  my  body  now. 
All  that  wasteth  me  away. 
Pressing  on  me  night  and  day. 

Love  ordains,  for  Love  art  Thou  ! 

Suffering  is  the  work  now  sent ; 
Nothing  can  I  do  but  lie 
Suffering  as  the  hours  go  by  ; 

All  my  powers  to  this  are  bent. 


^^6  QUIET  HOURS, 

Suffering  is  my  gain ;  I  bow 
To  my  heavenly  Father's  will, 
And  receive  it  hushed  and  still ; 

Suffering  is  my  worship  now. 

Let  my  soul  beneath  her  load 

Faint  not,  through  the  o'erwearied  flesh  \ 

Let  her  hourly  drink  afresh 
Love  and  peace  from  Thee,  my  God. 
Let  the  body's  pain  and  smart 

Hinder  not  her  flight  to  Thee, 

Nor  the  calm  Thou  givest  me  ; 
Keep  Thou  up  the  sinking  heart. 

Grant  me  never  to  complain, 

Make  me  to  Thy  will  resigned. 

With  a  quiet,  humble  mind, 
Cheerful  on  my  bed  of  pain. 
Wholly  Thine  —  my  faith  is  sure, 

Whether  Hfe  or  death  be  mine, 

I  am  safe  if  I  am  Thine  ; 
For  'tis  Love  that  makes  me  pure. 

RlCHTER,    I7XJ 


i 

THE   BORDER-LANDS. 


T^ATHER,  into  Thy  loving  hands 
•^        My  feeble  spirit  I  commit, 
While  wandering  in  these  Border- Lands, 
Until  Thy  voice  shall  summon  it. 


J 


i 


SUBMISSION.  147 

Father,  I  would  not  dare  to  choose 

A  longer  life,  an  earlier  death  ; 
I  know  not  what  my  soul  might  lose 

By  shortened  or  protracted  breath. 

These  Border-Lands  are  calm  and  still, 
And  solemn  are  their  silent  shades  ; 

And  my  heart  welcomes  them,  until 
The  light  of  life's  long  evening  fades. 

I  hear  them  spoken  of  with  dread. 

As  fearful  and  unquiet  places  ; 
Shades,  where  the  living  and  the  dead 

Look  sadly  in  each  other's  faces. 

But  since  Thy  hand  hath  led  me  here, 
And  I  have  seen  the  Border- Land ; 

Seen  the  dark  river  flowing  near, 
Stood  on  its  brink,  as  now  I  stand ; 

There  has  been  nothing  to  alarm 

My  trembling  soul ;  how  could  I  fear 

While  thus  encircled  with  Thine  arm  ? 
I  never  felt  Thee  half  so  near. 

What  should  appal  me  in  a  place 
That  brings  me  hourly  nearer  Thee  ? 

When  I  may  almost  see  Thy  face  — 
Surely  'tis  here  my  soul  would  be. 

EUPHEMIA   SaXBY. 


148  QUIET  HOURS. 


STARLIGHT. 

T^ARKLING,  methinks,  the  path  of  life  is  grown, 
^^     And  SoHtude  and  Sorrow  close  around  ; 
My  fellow-travellers  one  by  one  are  gone, 

Their  home  is  reached,  but  mine  must  still  be  found 
The  sun  that  set  as  the  last  bowed  his  head 

To  cross  the  threshold  of  his  resting-place, 
Has  left  the  world  devoid  of  all  that  made 

Its  business,  pleasure,  happiness,  and  grace. 
But  I  have  still  the  desert  path  to  trace ; 

Not  with  the  day  has  my  day's  work  an  end ; 
And  winds  and  shadows  through  the  cold  air  chase, 

And  earth  looks  dark  where  walked  we,  friend  with 
friend. 

And  yet  thus  wildered,  not  without  a  guide, 

I  wander  on  amid  the  shades  of  night ; 
My  home-fires  gleam,  methinks,  and  round  them  glide 

My  friends  at  peace,  far  off,  but  still  in  sight ; 
For  through  the  closing  gloom  mine  eyesight  goes 

Further  in  heaven  than  when  the  day  was  bright ; 
And  there,  as  Earth  still  dark  and  darker  grows, 

Shines  out,  for  every  shade,  a  world  of  hght. 

Mrs.  Archer  Clive 


DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 


PRAYER    AND    THE    DEAD. 

'TpHEY  passed  away  from  sight  and  hand, 

•*-       A  slow,  successive  train  : 
To  memory's  heart,  a  gathered  band, 
Our  lost  ones  come  again. 

Not  back  to  earth,  a  second  time 

The  mortal  path  to  tread  : 
They  walk  in  their  appointed  clime, 

The  dead,  but  not  the  dead. 

Their  spirits  up  to  God  we  gave^ 

With  eyes  as  wet  as  dim  ; 
Confiding  in  His  power  to  save, 

For  all  do  live  to  Him. 

Beyond  all  we  can  know  or  think, 

Beyond  the  earth  and  sky, 
Beyond  Time's  lone  and  dreaded  brink, 

Their  deathless  dwellings  lie. 

Dear  thoughts  that  once  our  union  made, 

Death  does  not  disallow  : 
We  prayed  for  them  while  here  they  stayed, 

And  what  shall  hinder  now  ? 


ISO  QUIET  HOURS, 

Our  Father  !  give  them  perfect  day, 

And  portions  with  the  blest ; 
Oh,  pity,  if  they  went  astray, 

And  pardon  for  the  best ! 

As  they  may  need,  still  deign  to  bring 

The  helping  of  thy  grace, 
The  shadow  of  thy  guardian  wing, 

Or  shining  of  thy  face. 

For  all  their  sorrows  here  below, 

Be  boundless  joy  and  peace  ; 
For  all  their  love,  a  heavenly  glow 

That  nevermore  shall  cease. 

O  Lord  of  Souls  !  when  ours  shall  part, 

To  try  the  farther  birth. 
Let  Faith  go  journeying  with  the  heart 

To  those  we  loved  on  earth. 

N.  L.  Frothingham 


FROM    '^IN    MEMORIAM." 

XCII. 

TTOW  pure  at  heart  and  sound  in  head, 
-*-  -^     With  what  divine  affections  bold, 

Should  be  the  man  whose  thought  would  hold 
An  hour's  communion  with  the  dead. 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALIT\\  i.Sl 

In  vain  shalt  thou,  or  any,  call 
The  spirits  from  their  golden  day, 
Except,  like  them,  thou  too  canst  say 

My  spirit  is  at  peace  with  all. 

They  haunt  the  silence  of  the  breast, 
Imaginations  calm  and  fair. 
The  memory  like  a  cloudless  air, 

The  conscience  as  a  sea  at  rest : 

But  when  the  heart  is  full  of  din. 
And  doubt  beside  the  portal  waits, 
They  can  but  listen  at  the  gates 

And  hear  the  household  jar  within. 

Alfred  Tennyso« 


OUT   OF   THE   DEPTHS. 

nPHOU  that  art  strong  to  comfort,  look  on  me ! 

-*-       I  sit  in  darkness,  and  behold  no  light ! 
Over  my  heart  the  waves  of  agony 
Have  gone,  and  left  me  faint !     Forbear  to  smite 
A  bruised  and  broken  reed  !     Sustain,  sustain, 

Divinest  Comforter,  to  Thee  I  fly ; 
Let  me  not  fly  in  vain  ! 
Support  me  with  Thy  love,  or  else  I  die  ! 
Whate'er  I  had  was  Thine  ! 
A  God  of  mercy  Thou  hast  ever  been  ; 

Assist  me  to  resign. 
And  if  I  murmur,  count  it  not  for  sin  ! 

II 


IS"  QUIET  HOURS. 

How  rich  I  was^  I  dare  not  —  dare  not  think ; 
How  poor  I  am,  Thou  knowest,  who  can  see 
Into  my  soul's  unfathomed  misery  ; 

Forgive  me  if  I  shrink  ! 
Forgive  me  if  I  shed  these  human  tears, 

That  it  so  hard  appears 
To  yield  my  will  to  Thine,  forgive,  forgive ! 

Father,  it  is  a  bitter  cup  to  drink  ! 

My  soul  is  strengthened  !  it  shall  bear 

My  lot,  whatever  it  may  be  ;  \ 

And  from  the  depths  of  my  despair, 

I  will  look  up  and  trust  in  Thee  1 

Mary  Howitt. 


TO    A    FRIEND. 

O  AD  soul,  whom  God,  resuming  what  He  gave, 
*^     Medicines  with  bitter  anguish  of  the  tomb, 
Cease  to  oppress  the  portals  of  the  grave, 
And  strain  thy  aching  sight  across  the  gloom. 
The  surged  Atlantic's  winter-beaten  wave 
Shall  sooner  pierce  the  purpose  of  the  wind 
Than  thy  storm-tost  and  heavy-swelling  mind 
Grasp  the  full  import  of  His  means  to  save. 
Through  the  dark  night  lie  still ;  God's  faithful  grace 
Lies  hid,  like  morning,  underneath  the  sea. 
Let  thy  slow  hours  roll,  Hke  these  weary  stars, 
Down  to  the  level  ocean  patiently  ; 
Till  His  loved  hand  shall  touch  the  Eastern  bars. 
And  His  full  glory  shine  upon  thy  face. 

William  Caldwell  Roscoe. 


J 


DEA  Til  AND  IMMOR  TALI  TV.  i  ^Z 


Addressed  to  a  Friend^  after  the  Loss  of 
a  CJiild, 

TT  THEN  on  my  ear  your  loss  was  knelled, 
^  ^       And  tender  sympathy  upburst, 
A  little  spring  from  memory  welled, 

Which  once  had  quenched  my  bitter  thirst. 

And  I  was  fain  to  bear  to  you 

A  portion  of  its  mild  relief, 
That  it  might  be  as  healing  dew, 

To  steal  some  fever  from  your  grief. 

After  our  child's  untroubled  breath 

Up  to  the  Father  took  its  way. 
And  on  our  home  the  shade  of  death 

Like  a  long  twilight  haunting  lay, 

And  friends  came  round,  with  us  to  weep 

Her  httle  spirit's  swift  remove. 
The  story  of  the  Alpine  sheep 

Was  told  to  us  by  one  we  love. 

They,  in  the  valley's  sheltering  care. 
Soon  crop  the  meadow's  tender  prime. 

And  when  the  sod  grows  brown  and  bare, 
The  shepherd  strives  to  make  them  climb 

To  airy  shelves  of  pasture  green 

That  hang  along  the  mountain's  side, 

Where  grass  and  flowers  together  lean. 
And  down  through  mists  the  sunbeams  slide. 


154  QUIET  HOURS. 

But  nought  can  tempt  the  timid  things 
The  steep  and  rugged  path  to  try, 

Though  sweet  the  shepherd  calls  and  sings, 
And  seared  below  the  pastures  lie,  — 

Till  in  his  arms  their  lambs  he  takes, 

Along  the  dizzy  verge  to  go, 
Then,  heedless  of  the  rifts  and  breaks, 

They  follow  on,  o'er  rock  and  snow. 

And  in  those  pastures,  lifted  fair. 
More  dewy-soft  than  lowland  m.ead, 

The  shepherd  drops  his  tender  care. 
And  sheep  and  lambs  together  feed. 

This  parable,  by  Nature  breathed. 
Blew  on  me  as  the  south  wind  free 

O^er  frozen  brooks,  that  flow  unsheathed 
From  icy  thraldom  to  the  sea. 

A  blissful  vision,  through  the  night, 
Would  all  my  happy  senses  sway, 

Of  the  good  Shepherd  on  the  height, 
Or  chmbing  up  the  stony  way, 

Holding  our  little  lamb  asleep,  — 
While,  like  the  murmur  of  the  sea. 

Sounded  that  voice  along  the  deep, 
Saying,  "  Arise,  and  follow  me  !  " 

Maria  Lowblu 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY.  155 

THE    CHILD'S    PICTURE. 

(What  it  sung  to  a  Soke  Heart.) 

T    ITTLE  face,  so  sweet,  so  fair, 
^^^     Pure  as  a  star, 
Through  the  wilderness  of  air 
Twinkling  afar ! 

With  what  melody  divine, 

Sweet  as  a  psalm, 
Sing  those  innocent  eyes  to  mine 

Out  of  their  calm  ! 

And  what  echoing  chords  in  me 

Wake  from  their  sleep, 
God  in  me  to  God  in  thee, 

Deep  unto  deep ! 

Ah,  my  pain  is  not  yet  old  ; 

Aching  I  list, 
And  thy  loveliness  behold 

Dim  through  a  mist. 

Thoughts  unhid  my  spirit  stir; 

Fresh  in  her  charms 
Comes  my  tiny  wanderer 

Back  to  my  arms  — 


1^6  QUIET  HOURS, 

Comes  my  little  truant  dove, 

Seeking  for  rest, 
Tired  of  airy  wastes  above, 

Home  to  her  nest  — 

Comes  in  her  own  nest  to  stay, 

Joy  in  her  eyes  ; 
But  the  vision  fades  away 

Into  the  skies. 


Little  face,  so  pure  that  art, 

Dreamy  and  fair, 
Sings  thy  beauty  to  my  heart 

Hope  or  despair  ? 

Is  there  meaning  in  thy  song, 

Sweet  as  a  bird^s  ? 
Shall  my  fear  or  faith  grow  strong  ? 

Hast  thou  no  words  ? 

Canst  thou  mock  my  spirit  so, 

Giving  no  sign  ? 
Ah,  thou  singest  clear  and  low  — 

"  I  am  not  thine  !  " 

Nay,  the  beauty  that  was  mine 

Sleeps  'neath  the  sods. 
Softly  floats  thy  lay  divine  — 

^'  Beauty  is  God's  !  " 

Melts  for  aye  the  beautiful  flake. 

Child  of  the  sky. 
On  the  bosom  of  the  lake  — 

"  Spirit  am  I  !  " 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY.  157 

Out  of  longing,  loss,  and  pain, 

Is  there  no  gate  ? 
Shall  I  clasp  my  own  again  ? 

"Silently  wait!" 

Little  face,  I  list  with  awe  ; 

Though  the  storms  come, 
Law  is  love,  and  love  is  law  — 

Let  me  be  dumb  ! 

Francis  E.  Abbot. 


DIRGE. 

T^NOWS  he  who  tills  this  lonely  field, 
-'-^     To  reap  its  scanty  corn, 
What  mystic  fruit  his  acres  yield 
At  midnight  and  at  morn  ? 

In  the  long  sunny  afternoon. 
The  plain  was  full  of  ghosts  ; 

I  wandered  up,  I  wandered  down, 
Beset  by  pensive  hosts. 

The  winding  Concord  gleamed  below, 

Pouring  as  wide  a  flood 
As  when  my  brothers,  long  ago, 

Came  with  me  to  the  wood. 

But  they  are  gone,  — the  holy  ones 
Who  trod  with  me  this  lovely  vale  ; 

The  strong,  star-bright  companions 
Are  silent,  low,  and  pale. 


158  QUIET  HOURS. 

My  good,  my  noble,  in  their  prime, 
Who  made  this  world  the  feast  it  was, 

Who  learned  with  me  the  lore  of  time, 
Who  loved  this  dwelling-place  ! 

They  took  this  valley  for  their  toy, 
They  played  with  it  in  every  mood  ; 

A  cell  for  prayer,  a  hall  for  joy,  — 
They  treated  nature  as  they  would. 

They  colored  the  horizon  round  ; 

Stars  flamed  and  faded  as  they  bade ; 
All  echoes  hearkened  for  their  sound,  — 

They  made  the  woodlands  glad  or  mad* 

I  touch  this  flower  of  silken  leaf. 
Which  once  our  childhood  knew  ; 

Its  soft  leaves  wound  me  with  a  grief 
Whose  balsam  never  grew. 

Hearken  to  yon  pine-warbler 

Singing  aloft  in  the  tree  ! 
Hearest  thou,  O  traveller, 

What  he  singeth  to  me  ? 

Not  unless  God  made  sharp  thine  ear 

With  sorrow  such  as  mine. 
Out  of  that  delicate  lay  could'st  thou 

Its  heavy  tale  divine. 


DEA  Til  A  YD  IMMOR TALITY.  i  59 

'*  Go,  lonely  man,"  it  saith  ; 

"  They  loved  thee  from  their  birth  ; 
Their  hands  were  pure,  and  pure  their  faith,  — 

There  are  no  such  hearts  on  earth. 

"Ye  drew  one  mother's  milk. 

One  chamber  held  ye  all ; 
A  very  tender  history 

Did  in  your  childhood  fall. 

"  You  cannot  unlock  your  heart, 

The  key  is  gone  with  them  ; 
The  silent  organ  loudest  chants 

The  master's  requiem." 

R.    W.    EMERiOlf 


GONE. 

A  NOTHER  hand  is  beckoning  us, 
-^  ^     Another  call  is  given  ; 
And  glows  once  more  with  angel-steps 
The  path  which  reaches  Heaven. 

Our  young  and  gentle  friend,  whose  smile 
Made  brighter  summer  hours. 

Amid  the  frosts  of  autumn  time, 
Has  left  us,  with  the  flowers. 

No  paling  of  the  cheek  of  bloom 

Forewarned  us  of  decay  ; 
No  shadow  from  the  Silent  Land 

Fell  round  our  sister's  way. 


'6o  QUIET  HOURS. 

The  light  of  her  young  Hfe  went  down, 

As  sinks  behind  the  hill 
The  glory  of  a  setting  star  — 

Clear,  suddenly,  and  still. 

As  pure  and  sweet,  her  fair  brow  seemed 

Eternal  as  the  sky  ; 
'Vnd  like  the  brook's  low  song,  her  voice, — 

A  sound  which  could  not  die. 

And  half  we  deemed  she  needed  not 

The  changing  of  her  sphere. 
To  give  to  Heaven  a  Shining  One, 

Who  walked  an  Angel  here. 

The  blessing  of  her  quiet  life 

Fell  on  us  like  the  dew ; 
And  good  thoughts,  where  her  footsteps  pressed 

Like  fairy  blossoms  grew. 

Sweet  promptings  unto  kindest  deeds 

Were  in  her  very  look  ; 
We  read  her  face,  as  one  who  reads 

A  true  and  holy  book  : 

The  measure  of  a  blessed  hymn, 
To  which  our  hearts  could  move  ; 

The  breathing  of  an  inward  psalm  ; 
A  canticle  of  love. 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY.  i6i 

We  miss  her  in  the  place  of  prayer, 

And  by  the  hearth-lire's  light ; 
We  pause  beside  her  door  to  hear 

Once  more  her  sweet  "  Good  night ! ' 

There  seems  a  shadow  on  the  day 

Her  smile  no  longer  cheers  ; 
A  dimness  on  the  stars  of  night, 

Like  eyes  that  look  through  tears. 

Alone  unto  our  Father's  will 

One  thought  hath  reconciled  ; 
That  He  whose  love  exceedeth  ours 

Hath  taken  home  His  child. 

Fold  her,  oh  Father  !  in  Thine  arms, 

And  let  her  henceforth  be 
A  messenger  of  love  betw^een 

Our  human  hearts  and  Thee. 

Still  let  her  mild  rebuking  stand 

Between  us  and  the  wrong, 
And  her  dear  memory  serve  to  make 

Our  faith  in  goodness  strong. 

And  grant  that  she  who,  trembling,  here 

Distrusted  all  her  powers. 
May  welcome  to  her  holier  home 

The  well-beloved  of  ours. 

J.  G    WHirriKR 


t62  QUIET  HOURS, 


THE  GATE  OF  HEAVEN. 


OHE  stood  outside  the  gate  of  heaven,  and  saw  thein 
^^         entering  in, 

A  world-long  train  of  shining  ones,  all  washed  in  blood 
from  sin. 

The  hero-martyr  in  that  blaze  uplifted  his  strong  eye, 
And  trod  firm  the  re-conquered  soil  of  his  nativity  ! 

And  he  who  had  despised  his  life,  and  laid  it  down  in 

pain, 
Now  triumphed  in  its  worthiness,  and  took  it  up  again. 

The  holy  one,  who  had  met  God  in  desert  cave  alone, 
Feared  not  to  stand  with  brethren  around  the  Father's 
throne. 

They  who  had  done,  in  darkest  night,  the  deeds  of 

light  and  flame, 
Circled  with  them  about  as  with  a  glowing  halo  came. 

And  humble  souls,  who  held  themselves  too  dear  for 

earth  to  buy. 
Now  passed  through  the  golden  gate,  to  live  eternally. 

And  when  into  the  glory  the  last  of  all  did  go, 
"  Thank  God  !  there  is  a  heaven,"  she  cried,  "  though 
mine  is  endless  woe." 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY.  163 

The  angel  of  the  golden  gate  said,  "Where,  then,  dost 

thou  dwell  ? 
And   who   art   thou   that  enterest   not?"  — '  A   soul 

escaped  from  hell." 

'^  Who  knows  to  bless  with  prayer  like  thine,  in  hell 

can  never  be  ; 
God's  angel  could  not,  if  he  would,  bar  up  this  dooi 

from  thee." 

She  left  her  sin  outside  the  gate,  she  meekly  entered 

there, 

Breathed  free  the  blessed  air  of  heaven,  and  knew  hei 

native  air. 

Disciples*  Hymn-book, 


THE    NEW    HEAVEN. 

T    ET  whosoever  will,  inquire 
-'-^     Of  spirit  or  of  seer. 
To  shape  unto  the  heart's  desire 
The  new  life's  vision  clear. 

My  God,  I  rather  look  to  Thee 
Than  to  these  fancies  fond. 
And  wait,  till  Thou  reveal  to  me 
That  fair  and  far  beyond. 

I  seek  not  of  Thy  Eden-land 
The  forms  and  hues  to  know, 
What  trees  in  mystic  order  stand, 
What  strange,  sweet  waters  flow  ; 


i64  QUIET  HOURS. 

What  duties  fill  the  heavenly  day, 
Or  converse  glad  and  kind, 
Or  how  along  each  shining  way 
The  bright  processions  wind. 

Oh,  joy  !  to  hear  with  sense  new  born 
The  angels'  greeting  strains, 
And  sweet  to  see  the  first  fair  morn 
Gild  the  celestial  plains. 

But  sweeter  far  to  trust  in  Thee 
While  all  is  yet  unknown, 
And  through  the  death-dark  cheerily 
To  walk  with  Thee  alone. 

In  Thee,  my  powers,  my  treasures  hve, 
To  Thee,  my  life  must  tend  ; 
Giving  Thyself,  Thou  all  dost  give, 
O  soul-sufficing  friend ! 

And  wherefore  should  I  seek  above 
Thy  City  in  the  sky? 
Since  firm  in  faith,  and  deep  in  love. 
Its  broad  foundations  lie  ? 

Since  in  a  life  of  peace  and  prayer, 
Nor  known  on  earth,  nor  praised. 
By  humblest  toil  by  ceaseless  care, 
Its  holy  towers  are  raised. 

Where  faith  the  soul  hath  purified, 
And  penitence  hath  shriven, 
And  truth  is  crowned  and  glorified, 
There  —  only  tliere  —  is  Heaven. 

Eliza  ScjinnBV 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY.  i  O5 


PASSAGE    FROM    "ANDREW    RYKMAN'S 
PRAYER." 

0  CARCELY  Hope  hath  shaped  for  me 
*^     What  the  future  life  may  be. 
Other  lips  may  well  be  bold  ; 

Like  the  publican  of  old, 

1  can  only  urge  the  plea, 

'*  Lord,  be  merciful  to  me  I  " 

Nothing  of  desert  I  claim, 

Unto  me  belongeth  shame. 

Not  for  me  the  crowns  of  gold, 

Palms,  and  harpings  manifold  ; 

Not  for  erring  eye  and  feet, 

Jasper  wall  and  golden  street. 

What  Thou  wilt,  O  Father,  give  ! 

All  is  gain  that  I  receive.  y 

If  my  voice  I  may  not  raise 

In  the  elders'  song  of  praise, 

If  I  may  not.  sin-defiled. 

Claim  my  birthright  as  a  child, 

Suffer  it  that  I  to  Thee 

As  an  hired  servant  be  ; 

Let  the  lowliest  task  be  mine. 

Grateful,  so  the  work  be  Thine  ; 

Let  me  find  the  humblest  place 

In  the  shadow  of  Thy  grace  : 

Blest  to  me  were  any  spot 

Where  temptation  whispers  not 


f66  QUIET  HOURS, 

If  there  be  some  weaker  one, 
Give  me  strength  to  help  him  on  ; 
If  a  bhnder  soul  there  be, 
Let  me  guide  him  nearer  Thee. 
Make  my  mortal  dreams  come  true 
With  the  work  I  fain  would  do  ; 
Clothe  with  life  the  weak  intent, 
Let  me  be  the  thing  I  meant ; 
Let  me  find  in  Thy  employ 
Peace  that  dearer  is  than  joy ; 
Out  of  self  to  love  be  led, 
And  to  heaven  acchmated. 
Until  all  things  sweet  and  good 
Seem  my  natural  habitude. 

John  G.  Whittie*. 


SONNET    ON    NIGHT   AND    DEATH. 

TV/TYSTERIOUS  Night !  when  our  first  parent  knew 

IyX     Thee,  from  report  divine,  and  heard  thy  name, 
Did  he  not  tremble  for  this  lovely  frame, 
This  glorious  canopy  of  light  and  blue  ? 

Yet  'neath  a  curtain  of  translucent  dew. 

Bathed  in  the  rays  of  the  great  setting  flame, 
Hesperus  with  the  host  of  heaven  came, 

And  lo  !  creation  widened  in  man's  view. 

Who  could  have  thought  such  darkness  lay  concealed 
Within  thy  beams^  O  Sun  !  or  who  could  find, 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY.  167 

While  fly,  and  leaf,  and  insect  stood  revealed, 
That  to  such  countless  orbs  thou  madest  us  blind ! 
Why  do  we  then  shun  Death  with  anxious  strife  ? 
If  Light  can  thus  deceive,  wherefore  not  Life  ? 

J.  Blanco  White,   1775-1841 


THE    FUTURE. 

TT7HAT  may  we  take  into  the  vast  Forever? 
^  ^  That  marble  door 

Admits  no  fruit  of  all  our  long  endeavor, 

No  fame-wreathed  crown  we  wore, 

No  garnered  lore. 

What  can  we  bear  beyond  the  unknown  portal  •* 

No  gold,  no  gains 
Of  all  our  toiling  :  in  the  life  immortal 

No  hoarded  wealth  remains, 

Nor  gilds,  nor  stains. 

Naked  from  out  that  far  abyss  behind  us 

We  entered  here : 
No  word  came  with  our  coming,  to  remind  us 

What  wondrous  world  was  near, 

No  hope,  no  fear. 

Into  the  silent,  starless  Night  before  us. 

Naked  we  glide  : 
No  hand  has  mapped  the  constellations  o'er  us^ 

No  comrade  at  our  side. 

No  chart,  no  guide. 


l68  QUIET  HOURS. 

Yet  fearless  toward  that  midnight,  black  and  hollow, 

Our  footsteps  fare : 
The  beckoning  of  a  Father's  hand  we  follow  — 

His  love  alone  is  there, 

No  curse,  no  care. 

Edward  Rowland  Sill. 


ATHANASIA. 

'T^HE  ship  may  sink, 

"^       And  I  may  drink 

A  hasty  death  in  the  bitter  sea ; 

But  all  that  I  leave 

In  the  ocean-grave 

Can  be  shpped  and  spared,  and  no  loss  to  me. 

What  care  I, 

Though  falls  the  sky, 
And  the  shrivelling  earth  to  a  cinder  turn  ? 

No  fires  of  doom 

Can  ever  consume 
What  never  was  made  nor  meant  to  burn. 

Let  go  the  breath  ! 

There  is  no  death 
To  the  living  soul,  nor  loss,  nor  harm. 

Not  of  the  clod 

Is  the  life  of  God  : 
Let  it  mount,  as  it  will,  from  form  to  form. 

Charles  G.  Ansa 


I 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


A  THANKSGIVING. 

**Thou  in  faithfulness  hast  afflicted  me." 

T    ORD,  in  this  dust  Thy  sovereign  voice 
■^^^     First  quickened  love  divine ; 
I  am  all  Thine,  —  Thy  care  and  choice, 
My  very  praise  is  Thine. 

I  praise  Thee,  while  Thy  providence 

In  childhood  frail  I  trace, 
For  blessings  given,  ere  dawning  sense 

Could  seek  or  scan  Thy  grace  ; 

Blessings  in  boyhood's  marvelling  houi*, 
Bright  dreams,  and  fancyings  strange  ; 

Blessings,  when  reason's  awful  power 
Gave  thought  a  bolder  range  ; 

Blessings  of  friends,  which  to  my  door 
Unasked,  unhoped,  have  come  ; 

And,  choicer  still,  a  countless  store 
Of  eager  smiles  at  home. 

Yet,  Lord,  in  memory's  fondest  place 

I  shrine  those  seasons  sad. 
When,  looking  up,  I  saw  Thy  face 

In  kind  austereness  clad. 


17^  QUIET  HOURS. 

I  would  not  miss  one  sigh  or  tear, 
Heart-pang,  or  throbbing  brow  ; 

Sweet  was  the  chastisement  severe, 
And  sweet  its  memory  now. 

And  such  Thy  tender  force  be  still, 
When  self  would  swerve  or  stray; 

Shaping  to  truth  the  froward  will 
Along  Thy  narrow  way. 

Deny  me  wealth  ;  far,  far  remove 

The  lure  of  power  or  name  ; 
Hope  thrives  in  straits,  in  weakness  love, 

And  faith  in  this  world's  shame. 

John  Henry  Newman,  1829 


THE    INWARD   WITNESS    OF   GOD. 

"  \1J"HERE  is  your  God  .? "  they  say : 

^  ^      Answer  them,  Lord  most  Holy  ! 
Reveal  Thy  secret  way 
Of  visiting  the  lowly : 

Not  wrapped  in  moving  cloud, 
Or  nightly-resting  fire  ; 
But  veiled  within  the  shroud 
Of  silent  high  desire. 

Come  not  in  flashing  stoi'm, 
Or  bursting  frown  of  thunder : 

Come  in  the  viewless  form 
Of  wakening  love  and  wonder  ;  — 


J 


MISCELLANEOUS.  i  7  i 

Of  duty  grown  divine, 
The  restless  spirit,  still ; 
Of  sorrows  taught  to  shine, 
As  shadows  of  Thy  will. 

O  God  !  the  pure  alone,  — 
E'en  in  their  deep  confessing, — 

Can  see  Thee  as  their  own, 
And  find  the  perfect  blessing : 

Yet  to  each  waiting  soul 

Speak  in  Thy  still  small  voice, 

Till  broken  love's  made  whole, 

And  saddened  hearts  rejoice. 

Anonymous,  1873.    Hymns  of  Praise  af id  Fravet. 


IDEALS. 

A  NGELS  of  Growth,  of  old  in  that  surprise 
■^  ^     Of  your  first  vision,  wild  and  sweet, 

I  poured  in  passionate  sighs 

My  wish  unwise 
That  ye  descend  my  heart  to  meet,  — 

My  heart  so  slow  to  rise  ! 

Now  thus  I  pray  :  Angelic  be  to  hold 
In  heaven  your  shining  poise  afar, 

And  to  my  wishes  bold 

Reply  with  cold, 
Sweet  invitation,  like  a  star 

Fixed  in  the  heavens  old. 


IT2  QUIET  HOURS. 

Did  ye  descend,  what  were  ye  more  than  I  ? 
Is't  not  by  this  ye  are  divine,  — 

That,  native  to  the  sky, 

Ye  cannot  hie 
Downward,  and  give  low  hearts  the  wine 

That  should  reward  the  high  ? 

Weak,  yet  in  weakness  I  no  more  complain 
Of  your  abiding  in  your  places  ; 

Oh,  still,  how^e'er  my  pain 

Wild  prayers  may  rain, 
Keep  pure  on  high  the  perfect  graces, 

That,  stooping,  could  but  stain  ! 

Not  to  content  our  lowness,  but  to  lure 
And  lift  us  to  your  angelhood. 

Do  your  surprises  pure 

Dawn  far  and  sure 
Above  the  tumult  of  young  blood, 

And  starlike  there  endure. 

Wait  there,  —  wait,  and  invite  me  while  I  clirnb; 
For,  see,  I  come !  —  but  slow,  but  slow ! 

Yet  ever  as  your  chime, 

Soft  and  sublime, 
Lifts  at  my  feet,  they  move,  they  go 

Up  the  great  stair  of  time. 

David  A.  Wasson 


INDEX     OF    AUTHORS. 


PAGB 

Abbot,  Francis  Ellingwood,  b.  1836     .    .    .    .  91,  155 
Ames,  Charles  Gordon,  b.  182S      .    .    .74,  109,  114,  168 

Anon/mous 16,  42,  136,  141,  170 

Arnold,  MArrHEw,  b.  1S22 6,  56,  76 

Austin,  John,  d.  1669 i,  100 

Brackett,  Anna  C 79 

Brown,  Brownlee 68 

Browning,  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Barrett  (1809-1861)   .      13 

Bryant,  William  Cullen  (1794-1878) 7 

Burbidge,  Thomas,  pub.  1834,  London 4,  17 

Gary,  Phcebe  (1825-1871) 116 

Chadwick,  John  White,  3.  1840 3i>  118 

Cheney,  Mrs.  Ednah  D.   .  92 

Clive,  Mrs.  Archer  (1S01-1S73) 148 

Clough,  Arthur  Hugh  (1S19-1S61)   .     57,  60,  (i^,  69,  80, 

81,  83,  89 

Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor  (177 2-1834)     ...      3,  43 
Cranch,  Christopher  Pearse,  3.  18 13    .    .    .  20,  65,  128 

De  Vere,  Aubrey, /5.  18 14 62 

Disciples'  Hymn-Book 53)  54»  ^62 


174  INDEX   OF  AUTHORS. 

PAGE 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo  (1S03-1882)    19,  y.,  62,  66,  114, 

157 
Faber,  Frederick  William  (1S15-1S63)     .    .        55,  126 

Franxke,  a.  H.  (1663-1727) .    .     143 

Frothingham,  Nathaniel  Langdon  (i 793-1870)     .     149 

Gannett,  William  Channing,  b.  1S40   .     .       23,  85,  115 

Gerhardt,  Paul  (1606-1676) 102,  133 

Goethe,  Johann  Wolfgang  von  (i 749-1832)      .     .      64 
GuYON,   Madame   Je.vnne-Marie    Bouvier  de  la 

MoTTE  (164S-1717) 136 

Herbert,  George  ( 1 593-1632) 97 

HiGGiNSON,  Thomas  Wentworth,  b.  1823  ....  22 
Houghton,  Lord  {see  Milnes). 

Ho  WITT,  Mrs.  Mary,  b.  about  1800 151 

H.H 59 

Johnson,  Samuel  (1S22-1SS2) 90,  140 

Keble,  John  (1792-1866) 36,  47>  141 

Kimball,  Harriet  McEwen 42 

Longfellow,  Samuel,  ^.1819 21,  96 

Lowell,  Mrs.  Maria  White  (1821-1S53)    •     ■     •     •     153 
Lyra  Catholica 2i^ 

MacDonald,  George,  b.  1824 125 

Milnes,  Richard  MoNCRroN,  ^.  1809 139 

Milton,  John  (i 608-1 674) 54 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS,  175 

pAoa 

!  Nfwman,  JoHX  HiiNRY,  ^.  i8oi   ....     48,  5^88,  i6g 

Olive  Leaf,  The yi 

Packard,  CM ^o 

Richards,  William  C,  1S62 73 

RiCHTER,  1713 145 

RoscoE,  William  Caldwell  (1823-1857)    ....     152 

S 81 

Saxby,  Mrs.  Jane  EuPHEMiA,  ^.  iSii  .     .     .     .       144,146 

ScuDDER,  Eliza 75*87,  94,  122,  163 

Sill,  Edward  Rowland 167 

Sterling,  John  (1806-1S44) 10 

Stowe,  Mrs.  Harriet  Beecher,  Z^.  1812 39 

Tennyson,  Alfred,  ^.  iSio .       127,  150 

Thaxter,  Mrs.  Celia,  b.  1S35 8 

Trowbridge,  John  TowNSEND,  b.  1S27 105 

Turner,  Charles  (Tennyson)  (180S-1S79)     2,6,23,33 

Vaughan,  Henry  (1621-1695)    .     .     12,  58,  loi,  121,  142 
Very  Jones  (181 3-1880) 17,  £6,  97 

Waring,  Anna  L.^titia,  b.  at  Xeath,  South  Wales      49, 

no,  131,  134 

Warner,  Anna «i 

Wasson,  David  Atwood,  <5.  1823    .     .    .     .     98,111,171 
White,  Joseph  Blanco  (1775-1841) 166 


176  INDEX  OF  AUTHORS. 

PAGE 

Whittier,  John  Greenleaf,  b,  1808    48,  51,  93,  106.  109, 

120, 123,  138,  159,  165 

Wither,  George  (i 588-1667) 41 

Wordsworth,  William  (1770-1850)  ...    2,  18,  25,  45 


INDEX   OF   FIRST   LINES. 


An  asterisk  denotes  that  oinissioJts  harje  been  made  in  tJu 
poem  indicated. 

PAGB 

Across  the  narrow  beach  we  flit 8 

A  few  short  hours  ago,  and  all  the  land 31 

*Ah  me  !  we  doubt  the  shining  skies 1 20 

A  little  bird  I  am 136 

Angels  of  Growth,  of  old  in  that  surprise 171 

Another  hand  is  beckoning  us 1 59 

Art  thou  the  Life 91 

As  one  dark  morn  I  trod  a  forest  glade 23 

As  on  my  bed  at  dawn  I  mused  and  prayed  ....  6 

As  ships,  becalmed  at  eve,  that  lay 69 

At  first,  I  prayed  for  sight 92 

Away,  haunt  thou  not  me 83 

Beauty  may  be  the  path  to  highest  good 53 

Be  thou  content,  be  still  before 102 

Blest  be  Thy  love,  dear  Lord 100 

*Comes  something  down  with  eventide 4 

*Cometh  sunshine  after  rain 133 


178  INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES. 

PAGH 

Darkling,  methinks,  the  path  of  life  is  grown     .     .     .  148 

Daughters  of  Time,  the  hypocritic  Days 62 

*Dear  babe,  that  sleepest  cradled  by  my  side     ...  3 

*Dear,  secret  greenness  !  nurst  below 58 


Each  hath  its  place  in  the  Eternal  Plan 17 

^Etc  on  my  bed  my  limbs  I  lay j.3 

Every  day  brings  a  ship 114 


Father,  I  know  that  all  my  life 49 

Father,  in  Thy  mysterious  presence  kneeling     ...  90          j 

*Father,  into  Thy  loving  hands 146          ' 

Father,  I  wait  Thy  word.     The  sun  doth  stand      .     .  97 

*Fighting  the  battle  of  life 71 

Five  years  have  past ;  five  summers,  with  the  length  25           • 

From  past  regret  and  present  faithlessness    ....  87 

*God,  whom  I  as  love  have  known 145           ; 

*Go  not  far  from  me,  O  my  Strength 131          ] 

*Hark,  my  soul,  how  every  thing i           ; 

*Hither  thou  com'st.     The  busie  wind  all  night          .12  \ 

How  do  the  rivulets  find  their  way 109 

Hdw  pure  at  heart  and  sound  in  head  .....  150          j 

Hues  of  the  rich  unfolding  morn       ......  36 

i 

1  ask  not  now  for  gold  to  gild ijS          j 

I  bless  Thee,  Lord,  for  sorrows  sent [40 

*I  cannot,  cannot  say 73           \ 

I  cannot  find  Thee.     Still  on  restless  pinion      ...  94          ^ 

I  hear  it  often  in  the  dark 85          1 

I  know  not  what  among  the  grass  thou  art    ...     .  r6          j 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES.  179 

PACK 

I  lay  me  down  to  sleep 141 

*I  like  a  church,  I  like  a  cowl 66 

I  look  to  Thee  in  every  need 96 

I  mourn  no  more  my  vanished  years 106 

In  calm  and  cool  and  silence  once  again 93 

In  May,  when  sea-winds  pierced  our  solitudes  ...  19 

In  the  mid  silence  of  the  voiceless  night 42 

*I  see  the  wrong  that  round  me  lies 123 

I  slept,  and  dreamed  that  life  was  beauty      ....  54 

I  stand  upon  the  summit  of  my  years 68 

It  fortifies  my  soul  to  know 81 

It  was  Thy  will,  my  Father 144 

I  wandered  lonely  as  a  cloud 18 

*I  worship  Thee,  sweet  Will  of  God 126 


Knows  he  who  tills  this  lonely  field 157 

*Know  well,  my  soul,  God's  hand  controls   ....       51 


Lead,  kindly  Light,  amid  the  encircling  gloom  ...  S'S> 

Let  whosoever  will,  inquire 163 

Life  of  our  life,  and  Light  of  all  our  seeing   ....  75 

Like  a  blind  spinner  in  the  sun 59 

Little  face,  so  sweet,  so  fair 155 

^Little  thinks,  in  the  field,  yon  red-cloaked  clown      .  33 

*Lord,  in  this  dust  Thy  sovereign  voice 169 

♦Lord,  should  we  oft  forget  to  sing 41 

♦Lord,  with  what  courage  and  delight 121 


Mourner,  that  dost  deserve  thy  mournfulness    .     .     .     136 

My  child  is  lying  on  my  knees 125 

*My  heart  is  resting,  O  my  God iio 


i8o  INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES. 

PAGl 

My  little  doves  have  left  a  nest 13 

Mysterious  Night !  when  our  first  parent  knew      ..     .  166 

*Now  with  the  rising  golden  dawn 38 

O  beauteous  things  of  earth 74 

O  fevered  eyes,  with  searching  strained 81 

*0h,  it  is  hard  to  work  for  God 55 

O  Love  Divine,  of  all  that  is 118 

Once  on  a  time,  when  tempted  to  repine 33 

Only  ten  miles  from  the  city 23 

O  only  Source  of  all  our  light  and  life 89 

O  Shadow  in  a  sultry  land 40 

O  stream  descending  to  the  sea 63 

*0  tell  me  whence  that  joy  doth  spring loi 

O  Thou,  who  givest  to  the  woodland  wren     ....  2 

*0  unseen  Spirit,  now  a  calm  divine 10 

O  years,  gone  down  into  the  past 116 

O  yet  we  trust  that  somehow  good 127 

^Plainness  and  clearness  without  shadow  of  stain  .     .  6 

Prophetic  Hope,  thy  fine  discourse 98 

Prune  thou  thy  words,  the  thoughts  control ....  48 

Round  holy  Rabia's  suffering  bed 139 

Sad  is  our  youth,  for  it  is  ever  going 62 

Sad  soul,  whom  God,  resuming  what  He  gave  .     .     .  152 

Say  not,  the  struggle  nought  availeth 57 

^Scarcely  Hope  hath  shaped  for  me 165 

She  stood  outside  the  gate  of  heaven 163 

Since  Eden,  it  keeps  the  secret 114 

Since  in  a  land  not  barren  still     .          142 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES.  i8i 

pa(;k 

*So  sometimes  comes  to  soul  and  sense 109 

Stern  Daughter  of  the  voice  of  God 45 

Still,  still  with  Thee,  when  purple  morning  breaketh  39 

*Such  was  the  boy  —  but  for  the  growing  youth     .     .  2 

SA-eet  is  the  solace  of  Thy  love 134 

Tears  wash  away  the  atoms  of  the  eye 128 

The  day  is  ended.     Ere  I  sink  to  sleep 42 

*The  Future  hides  in  it 64 

The  golden  sea  its  mirror  spreads 21 

The  Lord  is  in  His  Holy  Place 115 

The  night  is  made  for  cooling  shade 105 

♦There  are,  in  this  loud  stunning  tide 47 

The  ship  may  sink 168 

The  two  best  gifts  in  all  the  perfect  world    ...  79 

The  wind  ahead,  the  billows  high iii 

They  passed  away  from  sight  and  hand 149 

Thought  is  deeper  than  all  speech 65 

Thou  Grace  Divine,  encircling  all 122 

Thr.u  tellest  truths  unspoken  yet  by  man 17 

*Thou  that  art  strong  to  comfort,  look  on  me    .     .     .  151 

*Thou  that  hast  given  so  much  to  me 97 

Thou,  who  dost  dwell  alone 76 

'Tis  a  dull,  sullen  day,  —  the  gray  beach  o'er     ...  22 

Vainly  I  strive  through  the  darkness  to  see  ....  72 

*  We  cannot  kindle  when  we  will 56 

*'  What  are  you  looking  at?"  the  farmer  said     ...  20 

What  may  we  take  into  the  vast  Forever 167 

What  we,  when  face  to  face  we  see 60 

*What  within  me  and  without 143 

When  I  consider  how  my  light  is  spent          ....  54 


x82  INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES, 


PAGE 


When  I  look  back  upon  my  former  race 53 

When  on  my  ear  your  loss  was  knelled 153 

*When  sorrow  all  our  heart  would  ask 141 

When  the  enemy  is  near  thee 80 

*  Where'er  her  troubled  path  may  be 48 

*"^  Where  is  your  God  ?"  they  say 170 

Whither,  'midst  falling  dew 7 

Wilt  thou  not  visit  me .  86 


Quiet    Hours. 


A    COLLECTION  OF  POEMS. 


^econb  ^eriejE?. 


*'0  Thou,  the  primal  fount  of  life  and  peace, 

Who  shedd'st  Thy  breathing  quiet  all  around. 
In  me  command  that  pain  and  conflict  cease, 
And  turn  to  music  every  jarring  sound." 


BOSTON: 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS. 

1888. 


Copyright,  1880, 
By  Roberts  Brothers, 


University  Press: 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge. 


PREFACE. 


This  little  volume,  like  the  first  series  of 
*' Quiet  Hours,"  contains  poems  of  nature  and 
religion. 

I  must  express  my  thanks  to  the  authors  who 
have  kindly  allowed  me  to  make  this  use  of  their 
poems,  and  to  the  publishers  who  have  been  so 
good  as  to  permit  me  to  print  copyrighted  poems, 
—  Messrs.  D.  Appleton  &  Co.,  Messrs.  E.  P. 
Button  &  Co.,  and  Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers.  To 
the  latter  I  am  indebted  for  several  poems  by 
Jean  Ingelow,  from  a  volume  called  ''Holy  Songs, 
Carols,  and  Sacred  Ballads." 

M.  w.  T. 

November,  1880. 


CONTENTS. 


NATURE. 


From  "  The  Prelude  " IV.  Wordsworth 

The  Voices  of  Nature F.  T.  Pa/grave  . 

From  "The  Recluse  " IV.  IVordsivorth 

Resuscitation  of  Fancy Charles  Turjter  . 

Most  Sweet  is  it tV.  IVordsworth 

From  "  Endymion" John  Keats    .     . 

From  "  Dejection  :    An  Ode  "    ....  6".  7".  Coleridge  . 

To  a  Skylark /F.  Wordsworth 

It  is  a  Beauteous  Evening W.  Wordsworth 

The  Evening  Breeze Charles  Turner 

Three  Years  She  Grew //'.  Wordsworth 

Composed  on  a  May  Morning,  183S      .     .  W.  Wordsworth 

Wind  on  the  Corn Charles  Turner 

The  Felled  Oak Charles   Turner 

A  Photograph  on  the  Red  Gold  .     •     •     •  Charles  Turner 

This  Gray  Round  World John  Sterling    . 

The  Robin Joties  Very     .     . 

Elegiac  Stanzas W.  Wordsworth 

See  what  a  Lovely  Shell A.  Temiysoji  .     . 

The  Recollection P.  B.  Shelley  .     . 

An  Evening  Voluntary W.  Wordsworth 

An  Evening  Voluntary',  1 1 W.  Wordsworth 

To ,  in  her  Seventieth  Year  .     .     .  W.  Wordsworth 

The  Harvest  Moon diaries  Tiirner  . 

Orion        ,     .  Charles  Titrner  . 


14 
15 


24 
25 
26 
27 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


From  "  In  Memoriam,  CXIX."      .     .     .     A.  Tennyson, 
Night Wm.  Blake     . 


27 
28 


MORNING  AND   EVENING. 

A  Morning  Prayer C.J.  P.  Spitta   . 

Morning  Hymn Jokn  Sterling    . 

Ecce  jam  Noctis  tenuatur  Umbra    .     .     .  Breviary    .     .     . 

Morning  Hymn T.  //.  Gill .     .     . 

Morning Thojnas  Ken  .     . 

Come  to  Me //enry  V.  T.  .     . 

O  Silence  Deep  and  Strange J.  I^.  Eichendorf 

Rector  Potens,  Verax  Deus Breviary   .     .     . 

Rules  and  Lessons Henry  Vaughan 

The  Hours Jones  Very     .     . 

The  Night Henry  Vanghan 

Evening Jean  higelow 

Abide  with  Me .  H.  F.  Lyte      .     . 

Evening Jo/in  Keble      .     . 

Vesper  Hymn Eliza  Scudder    . 

Night Jones  Very    .     . 


29 
31 
32 

33 
34 
35 
36 
36 
37 
38 
39 
40 
41 
42 
43 


INWARD   STRIFE. 

Sin George  Herbert  . 

The  Sinful  Wish Hartley  Coleridge 

Multum  Dilexit Hartley  Coleridge 

O  Father  !    I  have  sinned        .....  Henry  S.  Sutton 

Low  Spirits F.  JV.  Faber  .     . 

An  Appeal Henry  S.  Suito?t 

A  Cry  of  the  Soul Pierre  Cortieille  . 

Divine  Love Gerhard  Tersteegen 

Pettishness Henry  S.  Stitton 

Prayer  for  Strength ,     .  Anonymous     .     . 

Uncertainty Christian  hitelligenc 

The  Lost  Cherith Anna  Shipton     .     . 

My  Quest LiitelVs  Living  Age 


46 

47 
4S 

49 
50 
51 
53 
53 
55 
56 
57 


CONTENTS. 


vn 


From  "  In  Memoriam,  CXXII.' 
Lord,  I  have  lain 


A.  Tennyson  .     . 
Francis  Qtiarles 


59 
60 


LIFE  AND   DUTY. 

Life  Mosaic F.  R.  Havergal 

Work   ....  E.  B.  Browning 

One  Day  at  a  Time E.  S.  Watson     . 

Good  Temper Hannah  More     . 

From  "The  Angel  in  the  House  "...  Coventry  Patmore 

From  •'  In  Memoriam,  CIX."     .     .     .     .  A .  Tennyson  .     . 

She  was  a  Phantom  of  Delight    ....  IV.  JVords7vortk 

The  Secret  of  a  Happy  Day F.  R.  Havergal 

Abou  Ben  Adhem Leigh  Hnnt    .     . 

Virtue George  Herbert  . 

Be  Useful  where  Thou  livest George  Herbert  . 

The  Delectable  Mountains Anonymous     .     . 

The  Divine  Life Charles  Wesley   . 

True  Manliness Henry  More    .     . 

The  Character  of  a  Happy  Life  ....  Sir  H.  Wotton    . 

Before  Labor Charles  Wesley   . 

Entire  Consecration Joachini  Lange  . 

Take  My  Life F  R.  Havergal 

The  Elixir George  Herbert  . 

Sonnet G.  Macdonald 

Sensitiveness J.  H.  Newman  . 

For  None  of  Us  liveth  to  Himself  .     .     .  yean  Ingelow 

The  Voice  in  the  Twilight K,  H .  Johnson    . 

Ye  also  as  Lively  Stones Jean  Ingelow 

Work  on  Earth John  Wilson  .     . 

Now  and  Afterwards D.  M.  Craik  .     , 

Sonnets  from  "  Within  and  Without  "      .  George  Macdonald 

The  Song  of  the  Christian  Pilgrim  .     .     .  Gerhard  Tersteegen 

Worldly  Place Matthew  Arnold 

Quiet  Work Matthew  A  retold 

Not  in  Vain Hartley  Coleridge 

All  Appointed R.   C.    Ttench     . 

How  Soon  hath  Time John  Milton   .     . 

Cyriack,  this  Three-ycars-day     ....  John  Milton   .     . 


Mil 


CONTENTS. 


Milton  !  Thou  shouldst  be  living 
Character  of  the  Happy  Warrior 
Rugby  Chapel 


W.  Wordsworth 
W.  Wordsworth 
Matthew  A  mold 


PAGE 

•  93 

•  94 

•  97 


PRAYER  AND   ASPIRATION. 

Be  not  afraid  to  Pray Hartley  Coleridge  .     .  105 

Praying  in  Spirit H.  M.  Kimball  .     .     .  105 

Help  from  Prayer J?.  C.  Trench      .     .     .  106 

Leave  Thyself  to  God    .......  Thomas  Burbidge  .     .  107 

From  the  Fourth  Sunday  after  Easter      .  John  Keble     ....  108 

A  Prayer Sir  W.  R.  Hamilton  .  108 

A  Prayer  imitated  from  the  Persian     .     .  Robert  Southey   .     .     .  109 

Dryness  in  Prayer F.  W.  Faber  .     .     .     .  109 

Distractions  in  Prayer F.  W.  Faber .     .     .     .  iii 

Sweetness  in  Prayer F.  W.  Faber.     .     .     .  113 

My  Prayer B.  T. 114 

Alone  with  God LitteWs  Living  Age    .  115 

Father,  replenish  with  Thy  grace.    .     .     .  Angehis  Silesius     .     .  117 

Hymn  and  Prayer y.  F.  Clarke  ....  117 

O  let  not  the  Lord  be  angry Jean  higelow      .     .     .  119 

The  Gift Anna  Shipton     .     .     .  120 

The  Night  Service B.  M. 122 


TRUST  AND  ADORATION. 


Within 

Adoration 

Commit  thy  Way  to  God 

He  made  the  Stars  also 

He  hath  put  the  World  in  their  Hearts     . 
The  Resting-Place  amid  Changes    . 
Though  I  take  the  Wings  of  the  Morning 

In  Him  we  live,  and  move,  etc 

The  Flower 

Perfection 

Receiving 

No  Fear 


Gerhard  Tersieegen 
Madame  Guy  on 
Paid  Gerhardt 
Jean  Ingelow 
Jeati  Ingelow 
A7t07iymous,  i6y6 
Jean  Ingelow 
jean  Ingelow 
George  Herbert 
F.  W.  Faber  . 
Dora  Greenwell 
Anna  L.  Waring 


125 
126 
126 
128 
129 
129 
131 
132 
133 
135 
136 
139 


1 


CONTENTS. 


IX 


Rest  in  God Winkler     .     .     . 

Psalm  CXXI Henry  Vaughan 

Thy  Will Jean  Sophia  Figott 

God's  Support Qiiarles  .     .     .     . 

Joy  in  the  Lord Christian  Gregor 

Childlike        Paul  Gerhardt    . 

Mount  of  Olives Henry  Vatighan 

From  "  The  Prelude  " W-  Wordsworth 


Change 


y cries  Very 


All  Things  are  Yours Anjia  L.  Waring 

Cheerfulness  taught  by  Reason    .     .     .     .  E.  B.  Brow7iing 

God's  Presence  the  Source  of  All  Joy  .     .  W.  Desslcr     .     . 

On  a  Long  and  Perilous  Journey     .     .     .  Paul  Flemyning  . 

God  is  Faithful Anna  L.  Waring 

Disappointment F.  R.  Havergal . 

Our  Stronghold  of  Hope Zihn 

Thou  wilt  keep  Him  in  Perfect  Peace  .     .  Anna  L.  Waring 

To  Myself Paul  Fie 7nming  . 

Confido  et  Conquiesco A.  A.  Procter     . 

Only  Thine Johann  Schejffler 

Thou  knowest  that  I  am  not  blest   .     .     .  Anna  L.  Waring 

All  Things  work  together  for  Good  .     .     .  C.  H.  Tozunshend 


HEAVEN   AND   THE   SAINTS. 

From  "  Eleanora  " John  Dryden 

On  the  Memory  of  Mrs.  Thomson    .     .     .  Johft  Milto7i   .     . 

She  dwelt  among  the  Untrodden  Ways     .  W.  Wordsiuorth 

Elegy  on  Mistress  Elizabeth  Drury      .     .  Johyi  Donne   .     . 

The  Good  —  They  drop  around  Us  .     .     .  /.  JVillia;ns    .     . 

Light  in  Darkness J.  Moultrie     .     . 

From  '*  Wallenstein  '* F.  von  Schiller  . 

From  "  Lacr>'m^  Paterns  " H.Al/ord      .     . 

From  "  Laodamia  " W.  Wordsivorih 

Peace Henry  VajigJian 

The  Future  Life W.  C.  Bryant     . 

To W.  Wordsiuorth 

Make  me  to  be  numbered  with  Thy  Saints  H.  Vatiglian  .     . 


CONTENTS. 


The  Conqueror's  Grave W,  C.  Bryant 

Life A.  L.  Barbauld 

It  is  not  growing  like  a  Tree Ben  Jonson    . 

They  are  All  gone I/.   Vaughan  . 

Hymn  to  God,  my  God,  in  my  Sickness  .  ^ohn  Donne   . 

Friends  of  my  Youth      . Mrs.  Archer  Clive 

From  "  In  Memoriam,  XXXIX."      .     .A.  Tennyson.     . 

The  Verdict  of  Death Elizabeth  Charles   . 

A  Meditation Dora  Greenwell 

The  Communion  of  Saints Richard  Maiit    .     . 

The  Family  in  Heaven  and  Earth    .     .     .  T.H.Gill.     .     .     , 

The  Cloud  of  Witnesses Anonymous    .     .     . 

Flight  of  the  Spirit Felicia  D.  Remans 


PAGE 

173 
175 
176 
176 


179 
iSi 
184 
185 
186 
187 
188 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

The  Unfailing  One F.  R.  Havergal 

Compelled  to  bear  the  Cross H.  W.  Hall   . 

From  "  In  Memoriam,"  Strong  Son  of  God  A.  Tennyson  . 

XXXII."     .     .     .  A.Tennyson. 

"  XXXIII.".     .     .  A.Tennyson. 

XXXVI."    .     .     .  A.Te^inyson. 

The  Blessed  Life IV.  T.  Matson 

After  Strife Independent    . 

After  Rest Independent    . 

Thoughts  in  a  City  Church Spectator    .     . 

Hymn  to  the  City IV.  C.  Bryant 

Composed  upon  Westminster  Bridge    .     .  W.  Wordsworth 

A  Drop  of  Dew A  ndreiv  Marvell 

The  Retreat      ..........  Henry  Vaiighan 

Ode  on  Intimations  of  Immortality  .    .     .  W.  Wordsworth 


190 
191 
193 
194 
195 
195 
196 
197 
198 
199 
200 
201 
202 
203 
205 


QUIET    HOURS. 


NATURE. 


FROM   "THE    PRELUDE.- 

Ere  we  retired, 
The  cock  had  crowed,  and  now  the  eastern  sky 
Was  kindhng,  not  unseen,  from  humble  copse 
And  open  field,  through  which  the  pathway  wound, 
And  homeward  led  my  steps.     Magnificent 
The  morning  rose,  in  memorable  pomp. 
Glorious  as  e'er  I  had  beheld  —  in  front. 
The  sea  lay  laughing  at  a  distance  ;  near, 
The  solid  mountains  shone,  bright  as  the  clouds, 
(irain-tinctured,  drenched  in  empyrean  light; 
And  in  the  meadows  and  the  lower  grounds 
Was  all  the  sweetness  of  a  common  dawn  — 
Dews,  vapors,  and  the  melody  of  birds, 
And  laborers  going  forth  to  till  the  fields. 

Ah  !  need  I  say,  dear  Friend  !  that  to  the  brim 
My  heart  was  full ;   I  made  no  vows,  but  vows 
Were  then  made  for  me  ;  bond  unknown  to  me 


QUIET  HOURS. 

Was  given,  that  I  should  be,  else  sinning  greatly, 

A  dedicated  Spirit.     On  I  walked 

In  thankful  blessedness,  which  yet  survives. 

William  Wordsworth 


THE   VOICES    OF    NATURE. 


T  70 ICE  of  Nature  in  the  heart, 

^    Narrow  though  our  science,  though 
Here  we  only  know  in  part, 

Give  us  faith  in  what  w^e  know  ! 
To  a  fuller  life  aspiring. 
Satisfy  the  heart's  desiring  :  — 

Tell  us  of  a  force,  behind 

Nature's  force,  supreme,  alone : 

Tell  us  of  a  larger  mind 

Than  the  partial  power  we  own : 

Tell  us  of  a  Being  wholly 

Wise  and  great  and  just  and  holy  :  — 

Toning  down  the  pride  of  mind 

To  a  wiser  humbleness, 
Teach  the  limits  of  mankind, 

Weak  to  know,  and  prompt  to  guess, 
On  the  mighty  shores  that  bound  us 
Childlike  gathering  trifles  round  us  :  — 

Teach  how,  yet,  what  here  we  know 
To  the  unknown  leads  the  way. 


NATURE,  3 

As  the  light  that,  faint  and  low, 
Prophesies  consummate  day  ; 
How  the  little  arc  before  us 
Proves  the  perfect  circle  o'er  us  :  — 

How  the  marr'd  unequal  scheme 

That  on  all  sides  here  we  meet, 
Either  is  a  lawless  dream, 

Or  must  somewhere  be  complete  ;  — 
Where  or  when,  if  near,  or  distant, 
Known  but  to  the  One  Existent. 

—  He  is.     We  meanwhile  repair 

From  the  noise  of  human  things 
To  the  fields  of  larger  air, 

To  the  shadow  of  His  wings  : 
Listening  for  His  message  only 
In  the  wild  with  Nature  lonely. 

Francis  Turner  Palgrave 


FROM    "THE   RECLUSE." 

/^F  truth,  of  grandeur,  beauty,  love,  and  hope, 

^-^     And  melancholy  fear  subdued  by  faith ; 

Of  blessed  consolations  in  distress  ; 

Of  moral  strength  and  intellectual  power  ; 

Of  joy  in  widest  commonalty  spread  ; 

Of  the  individual  mind  that  keeps  her  own 

Inviolate  retirement,  subject  there 

To  conscience  only,  and  the  law  supreme 


QUIET  HOURS. 

Of  that  intelligence  which  governs  all  — 

I  sing  :   "  fit  audience  let  me  find,  though  few  !  " 

Beauty  —  a  living  presence  of  the  earth, 

Surpassing  the  most  fair  ideal  forms 

Which  craft  of  dehcate  spirits  hath  composed 

From  earth's  materials  —  waits  upon  my  steps  ; 

Pitches  her  tents  before  me  as  I  move, 

An  hourly  neighbor.     Paradise,  and  groves 

Elysian,  fortunate  fields —  like  those  of  old 

Sought  in  the  Atlantic  main  —  why  should  they  be 

A  history  only  of  departed  things, 

Or  a  mere  fiction  of  what  never  was  ? 

For  the  discerning  intellect  of  man, 

When  wedded  to  this  goodly  universe 

In  love  and  holy  passion,  shall  find  these 

A  simple  produce  of  the  common  day. 

William  Wordsworth. 


RESUSCITATION    OF    FANCY. 

npHE  edge  of  thought  was  blunted  by  the  stress 
-*-       Of  the  hard  world  ;  my  fancy  had  w^ax'd  dull, 
All  Nature  seemed  less  nobly  beautiful,  — 
Robbed  of  her  grandeur  and  her  loveliness  ; 
Methought  the  Muse  within  my  heart  had  died, 
Till,  late,  awaken'd  at  the  break  of  day. 
Just  as  the  East  took  fire  and  doff'd  its  gray, 
The  rich  preparatives  of  light  I  spied  ; 


NA  TURE.  5 

But  one  sole  star  —  none  other  anywhere  — 
A  wild-rose  odor  from  the  fields  was  borne  ; 
The  lark's  mysterious  joy  filled  earth  and  air, 
And  from  the  wind's  top  met  the  hunter's  horn  , 
The  aspen  trembled  wildly,  and  the  morn 
Dreath'd  up  in  rosy  clouds,  divinely  fair! 

Charles  Turner. 


A /TOST  sweet  is  it  with  unuplifted  eyes 

^^^  To  pace  the  ground,  if  path  be  there  or  none, 

While  a  fair  region  round  the  traveller  lies 

Which  he  forbears  again  to  look  upon  ; 

Pleased  rather  with  some  soft  ideal  scene, 

The  work  of  fancy,  or  some  happy  tone 

Of  meditation,  slipping  in  between 

The  beauty  coming  and  the  beauty  gone. 

If  thought  and  love  desert  us,  from  that  day 

Let  us  break  off  all  commerce  with  the  Muse  ; 

With  thought  and  love  companions  of  our  way, 

Whate'er  the  senses  take  or  may  refuse, 

The  mind's  internal  heaven  shall  shed  her  dews 

Of  inspiration  on  the  humblest  lay. 

William  Wordsworth 

FROM    ^'ENDYMION." 

A     THING  of  beauty  is  a  joy  forever  : 

Its  loveliness  increases  ;  it  will  never 
Pass  into  nothingness  ;  but  still  will  keep 
A  bower  quiet  for  us,  and  a  sleep 


6  QUIET  HOURS. 

Full  of  sweet  dreams,  and  health  and  quiet  breathing. 

Therefore,  on  every  morrow,  are  we  wreathing 

A  flowery  band  to  bind  us  to  the  earth, 

Spite  of  despondence,  of  the  inhuman  dearth 

Of  noble  natures,  of  the  gloomy  days, 

Of  all  the  unhealthy  and  o'er-darkened  ways 

Made  for  our  searching  ;  yes,  in  spite  of  all, 

Some  shape  of  beauty  moves  away  the  pall 

From  our  dark  spirits.     Such  the  sun,  the  moon, 

Trees  old  and  young,  sprouting  a  shady  boon 

For  simple  sheep  ;  and  such  are  daffodils 

With  the  green  world  they  live  in  ;  and  clear  rills 

That  for  themselves  a  cooling  covert  make 

'Gainst  the  hot  season  ;  the  mid-forest  brake, 

Rich  with  a  sprinkling  of  fair  musk-rose  blooms  : 

And  such  too  is  the  grandeur  of  the  dooms 

We  have  imagined  for  the  mighty  dead  ; 

All  lovely  tales  that  we  have  heard  or  read  : 

An  endless  fountain  of  immortal  drink, 

Pouring  unto  us  from  the  heaven's  brink. 

John  Keats 


FR0:M    '^DEJECTION:    AN    ODE." 

A    GRIEF  without  a  pang,  void,  dark,  and  drear, 
•^^     A  stifled,  drowsy,  unimpassioned  grief, 
Which  finds  no  natural  outlet,  no  relief, 
In  word,  or  sigh,  or  tear  — 
O  Lady !  in  this  wan  and  heartless  mood, 
To  other  thoughts  by  yonder  throstle  wooed, 


NA  TURE.  7 

All  this  long  eve,  so  balmy  and  serene, 
Have  I  been  gazing  on  the  western  sky, 

And  its  peculiar  tint  of  yellow  green  : 
And  still  I  gaze  —  and  with  how  blank  an  e3'e  ! 
And  those  thin  clouds  above,  in  flakes  and  bars, 
That  give  away  their  motion  to  the  stars  ; 
Those  stars,  that  glide  behind  them  or  between. 
Now  sparkling,  now  bedimmed,  but  always  seen  •• 
Yon  crescent  moon  as  fixed  as  if  it  grew 
In  its  own  cloudless,  starless  lake  of  blue  ; 
I  see  them  all  so  excellently  fair, 
I  see,  not  feel  how  beautiful  they  are  ! 

My  genial  spirits  fail ; 
And  what  can  these  avail 
To  lift  the  smothering  weight  from  off  my  breast  ? 
It  were  a  vain  endeavor 
Though  I  should  gaze  for  ever 
On  that  green  light  that  lingers  in  the  west : 
I  may  not  hope  from  outward  forms  to  win 
The  passion  and  the  life, whose  fountains  are  within. 

O  Lady  !  we  receive  but  what  we  give. 
And  in  our  life  alone  does  Nature  live  : 
Ours  is  her  wedding-garment,  ours  her  shroud  ! 

And  would  we  aught  behold,  of  higher  worth, 
Than  that  inanimate  cold  world  allowed 
To  the  poor  loveless  ever-anxious  crowd, 

Ah  !  from  the  soul  itself  must  issue  forth 
A  light,  a  glory,  a  fair  luminous  cloud 
Enveloping  the  earth  — 


QUIET  HOURS. 

And  from  the  soul  itself  must  there  be  sent 

A  sweet  and  potent  voice,  of  its  own  birth, 
Of  all  sweet  sounds  the  life  and  element ! 

Samuel  Taylok  Coleridge. 


TO   A   SKYLARK. 

PJ^THEREAL  minstrel !  pilgrim  of  the  sky  ! 
-'--'    Dost  thou  despise  the  earth  where  cares  abound  ? 
Or,  while  the  wings  aspire,  are  heart  and  eye 
Both  with  thy  nest  upon  the  dewy  ground  ? 
Thy  nest  which  thou  canst  drop  into  at  will, 
Those  quivering  wings  composed,  that  music  still ! 

To  the  last  point  of  vision,  and  beyond, 

Mount,  daring  warbler  !  —  that  love-prompted  strain, 
('Twixt  thee  and  thine  a  never-failing  bond) 

Thrills  not  the  less  the  bosom  of  the  plain: 
Yet  might'st  thou  seem,  proud  privilege  !  to  sing 
All  independent  of  the  leafy  vSpring. 

Leave  to  the  nightingale  her  shady  wood; 

A  privacy  of  glorious  light  is  thine  ; 
Whence  thou  dost  pour  upon  the  world  a  flood 

Of  harmony,  with  instinct  more  divine  ; 
Type  of  the  wise  who  soar,  but  never  roam; 
True  to  the  kindred  points  of  Heaven  and  Home. 

William  Wordsworth. 


NATURE.  9 

TT  is  a  beauteous  evening,  calm  and  free  ; 

^   The  holy  time  is  quiet  as  a  nun 

Breathless  with  adoration  ;  the  broad  sun 

Is  sinking  down  in  its  tranquillity  ; 

The  gentleness  of  heaven  is  on  the  Sea. 

Listen  !  the  mighty  Being  is  awake, 

And  doth  with  his  eternal  motion  make 

A  sound  like  thunder  everlastingly. 

Dear  child  !  dear  girl  !  that  walkest  with  me  here. 

If  thou  appear'st  untouched  by  solemn  thought, 

Thy  nature  is  not  therefore  less  divine  : 

Thou  liest  in  Abraham's  bosom  all  the  year  ; 

And  worshipp'st  at  the  temple's  inner  shrine, 

God  being  with  thee  when  we  know  it  not. 

William  Wordsworth,   1802. 

'T^HE  evening  breeze  is  blowing  from  the  lea 
-■-       Upon  the  fluttering  elm  ;  thou  hast  a  mind, 
O  star  !  methinks,  to  settle  in  the  tree  — 

But,  ever  baffled  by  the  pettish  wind, 
Thou  movest  back  and  forward,  and  I  find 

A  pastime  for  my  thoughts  in  watching  thee  ; 
In  thy  vast  orbit  thou  art  rolling  now. 

And  wottest  not  how  to  my  human  eye 
Thou  seemest  flouted  by  a  waving  bough, 

Serving  my  fancy's  needs  right  pleasantly  ; 
Thou  wottest  not  —  but  He  who  made  thee  knows 

Of  all  thy  fair  results  both  far  and  near, 
Of  all  thine  earthly,  all  thine  heavenly  shows  — 

The  expression  of  thy  beauty  there  and  here. 

Charles  Turner. 


lo  QUIET  HOURS. 


"THREE   YEARS    SHE   GREW." 

'T^HREE  years  she  grew  in  sun  and  shower, 
-*■       Then  Nature  said,  "  A  lovelier  flower 

On  earth  was  never  sown. 
This  child  I  to  myself  will  take  ; 
She  shall  be  mine,  and  I  will  make 

A  lady  of  my  own. 


"  Myself  will  to  my  darling  be 
Both  law  and  impulse  ;  and  with  me 

The  girl,  in  rock  and  plain. 
In  earth  and  heaven,  in  glade  and  bower 
Shall  feel  an  overseeing  power 

To  kindle  or  restrain. 

"  She  shall  be  sportive  as  the  fawn 
That  wild  with  glee  across  the  lawn 

Or  up  the  mountain  springs  ; 
And  hers  shall  be  the  breathing  balm. 
And  hers  the  silence  and  the  calm 

Of  mute  insensate  things. 

"  The  floating  clouds  their  state  shall  lend 
To  her  :  for  her  the  willow  bend  ; 

Nor  shall  she  fail  to  see 
Even  in  the  motions  of  the  storm 
Grace  that  shall  mould  the  maiden's  form 

By  silent  sympathy. 


NATURE  II 

"  The  stars  of  midnight  shall  be  dear 
To  her  and  she  shall  lean  her  ear 

In  many  a  secret  place 
Where  rivulets  dance  their  wayward  round, 
And  beauty  born  of  murmuring  sound 

Shall  pass  into  her  face. 

"  And  vital  feelino^s  of  deli^fht 
Shall  rear  her  form  to  stately  height, 

Her  virgin  bosom  swell ; 
Such  thoughts  to  Lucy  I  will  give 
While  she  and  I  together  live 

Here  in  this  happy  dell." 

Thus  Nature  spake.     The  work  was  done  ; 
How  soon  my  Lucy's  race  was  run  ! 

She  died,  and  left  to  me 
This  heath,  this  calm  and  quiet  scene  ; 
The  memory  of  what  has  been, 

And  nevermore  will  be. 

William  Wordsworth,   1799 


COMPOSED    ON    A    MAY    MORNING. 

T    IFE  with  yon  lambs,  like  day,  is  just  begun, 

^^     Yet  Nature  seems  to  them  a  heavenly  guide. 

Does  joy  approach  ?  they  meet  the  coming  tide  ; 

And  sullenness  avoid,  as  now  they  shun 

Pale  twiliHit's  lin2:erinof  alooms,  —  and  in  the  sun 

Couch  near  their  dams,  with  quiet  satisfied  ; 

Or  gambol,  each  with  his  shadow  at  his  side, 


12  QUIET  HOURS. 

\"arying  its  shape  wherever  he  may  run. 
As  they  from  turf  yet  hoar  with  sleepy  dew 
All  turn,  and  court  the  shining  and  the  green, 
Where  herbs  look  up  and  opening  flowers  are  seen, 
Why  to  God's  goodness  cannot  we  be  true  ? 
And  so,  His  gifts  and  promises  between, 
Feed  to  the  last  on  pleasures  ever  new  ? 

William  Wordsworth,  1838. 


W^IND    ON    THE    CORN.  '< 

X. 

"F?ULL  often  as  I  rove  by  path  or  stile,  | 

-■■        To  watch  the  harvest  ripening  in  the  vale,  1 

Slowly  and  sweetly,  like  a  growing  smile —  3 

A  smile  that  ends  in  laughter  —  the  quick  gale  * 

Upon  the  breadths  of  gold-green  wheat  descends  ;  '^ 

While  still  the  swallow,  with  unbaffled  grace,  j 

About  his  viewless  quarry  dips  and  bends  —  J 

And  all  the  fine  excitement  of  the  chase  J 

Lies  in  the  hunter's  beauty:  in  the  eclipse  I 

Of  that  brief  shadow,  how  the  barley's  beard  4 

Tilts  at  the  passing  gloom,  and  wild-rose  dips  I 

Among  the  white-tops  in  the  ditches  reared  :  | 

And  hedge-row's  flowery  breast  of  lace-work  stirs  J 
Faintly  in  that  full  wind  that  rocks  the  outstanding  firs 

Charles  Turner. 


NA  TURE.  13 

THE    FELLED   OAK: 

Grasby  Vicarage,  September  5,  1874. 

TT  THEN  the  storm  felled  our  oak,  and  thou,  fair  wold, 
^  ^      Wert  seen  beyond  it,  we  were  slow  to  take 
The  lesson  taught ;  for  our  old  neighbor's  sake, 
We  found  thy  distant  presence  wan  and  cold, 
And  gave  thee  no  warm  welcome,  for  whene'er 
We  tried  to  dream  him  back  into  the  place 
Where  once  he  stood,  the  giant  of  his  race, 
'T  was  but  to  lift  an  eye  and  thou  wert  there, 
His  sad  remembrancer,  the  monument 
That  told  us  he  was  gone.     But  thou  hast  blent 
Thy  beauty  with  our  loss  so  long  and  well, 
That  in  all  future  grief  we  may  foretell 
Some  lurking  good  behind  each  seeming  ill, 
Beyond  each  fallen  tree  some  fair  blue  hill. 

Charles  Turner. 


A   PHOTOGRAPH    ON    THE    RED   GOLD. 

Jersey,  1S67. 

A  BOUT  the  knoll  the  airs  blew  fresh  and  brisk, 
•^  ^     And,  musing  as  I  sat,  I  held  my  watch 
Upon  my  open  palm  ;  its  smooth  bright  disk 
Was  uppermost,  and  so  it  came  to  catch, 
And  dwarf,  the  figure  of  a  waving  tree, 


14 


QUIET  HOURS. 


Backed  by  the  West.     A  tiny  sunshine  peeped 

About  a  tiny  elm,  —  and  both  were  steeped 

In  royal  metal,  flaming  ruddily : 

How  lovely  was  that  vision  to  behold ! 

How  passing  sweet  that  fairy  miniature. 

That  streamed  and  flickered  o'er  the  burning  gold  ! 

God  of  small  things  and  great !  do  Thou  ensure 

Thy  gift  of  sight,  till  all  my  days  are  told, 

Bless  all  its  bliss,  and  keep  its  pleasures  pure ! 

Charles  Turner. 


nPHIS  gray  round  world,  so  full  of  Hfe, 
-*-       Of  hate  and  love,  of  calm  and  strife, 

Still  ship-like  on  for  ages  fares. 
How  grand  it  sweeps  the  eternal  blue ! 
Glide  on,  fair  vessel,  till  thy  crew 

Discern  how  great  a  lot  is  theirs. 

John  Sterling. 


THE   ROBIN. 


npHOU  need'st  not  flutter  from  thy  half-built  nest, 

^       Whene'er  thou  hear'st  man's  hurrying  feet  go  by. 
Fearing  his  eye  for  harm  may  on  thee  rest. 
Or  he  thy  young  unfinished  cottage  spy; 
All  will  not  heed  thee  on  that  swinging  bough. 
Nor  care  that  round  thy  shelter  spring  the  leaves. 
Nor  watch  thee  on  the  pool's  wet  margin  now 
For  clay  to  plaster  straws  thy  cunning  weaves : 


NATURE.  IS 

All  will  not  hear  thy  sweet  out-pouring  joy, 
That  with  morn's  stillness  blends  the  voice  of  song, 
For  over-anxious  cares  their  souls  employ. 
That  else  upon  thy  music  borne  along 
And  the  light  wings  of  heart-ascending  prayer 
Had  learned  that  Heaven  is  pleased  thy  simple  joys  to 
share. 

Jones  Very. 

ELEGIAC   STANZAS, 

SUGGESTED   BY  A  PICTURE   OF   PEELE   CASTLE   IN    A   STORM,   PAINTED    BY 
SIR   GEORGE   BEAUMONT. 

T  WAS  thy  neighbor  once,  thou  rugged  pile  ! 
•*■       Four  summer  weeks  I  dwelt  in  sight  of  thee  : 
I  saw  thee  every  day  ;  and  all  the  while 
Thy  form  was  sleeping  on  a  glassy  sea. 

So  pure  the  sky,  so  quiet  was  the  air  ! 

So  like,  so  very  hke,  was  day  to  day ! 
Whene'er  I  looked,  thy  image  still  was  there  ; 

It  trembled,  but  it  never  passed  away. 

How  perfect  was  the  calm  !  it  seemed  no  sleep ; 

No  mood  which  season  takes  away,  or  brings  : 
I  could  have  fancied  that  the  mighty  deep 

Was  even  the  gentlest  of  all  gentle  things. 

Ah  !  then^  if  mine  had  been  the  painter's  hand. 
To  express  what  then  I  saw,  and  add  the  gleam, 

The  light  that  never  w^as,  on  sea  or  land. 
The  consecration,  and  the  poet's  dream, 


i6 


QUIET  HOURS. 


I  would  have  planted  thee,  thou  hoary  pile, 

Amid  a  world  how  dififerent  from  this  ! 
Beside  a  sea  that  could  not  cease  to  smile, 

On  tranquil  land,  beneath  a  sky  of  bliss 

A  picture  had  it  been  of  lasting  ease, 

Elysian  quiet,  without  toil  or  strife  ; 
No  motion  but  the  moving  tide,  a  breeze, 

Or  merely  silent  Nature's  breathing  life. 

Such,  in  the  fond  illusion  of  my  heart, 

Such  picture  would  I  at  that  time  have  made  ; 

And  seen  the  soul  of  truth  in  every  part, 

A  steadfast  peace  that  might  not  be  betrayed. 

So  once  it  would  have  been;  't  is  so  no  more  ; 

I  have  submitted  to  a  new  control  : 
A  power  is  gone  which  nothing  can  restore  ; 

A  deep  distress  hath  humanized  my  soul. 

Not  for  a  moment  could  I  now  behold 
A  smiling  sea,  and  be  what  I  have  been  ! 

The  feeling  of  my  loss  will  ne'er  be  old  ; 

This,  which  I  know,  I  speak  with  mind  serene. 

Then,    Beaumont,  friend   who  would   have   been   the 
friend. 

If  he  had  lived,  of  him*  whom  I  deplore. 
This  work  of  thine  I  blame  not,  but  commend  — 

This  sea  in  anger  and  that  dismal  shore. 


*  His  brother,  Captain  John  Wordsworth,  who  was  lost  at  sea. 


NATURE,  17 

Oh,  't  is  a  passionate  work  —  yet  wise  and  well, 

Well  chosen  is  the  spirit  that  is  here ; 
That  hulk  which  labors  in  the  deadly  swell, 

This  rueful  sky,  this  pageantry  of  fear. 

And  this  huge  castle,  standing  here  sublime, 
I  love  to  see  the  look  with  which  it  braves, 

Cased  in  the  unfeeling  armor  of  old  time, 

The  lightning,  the  fierce  wind,  and  trampling  waves. 

Farewell,  farewell  the  heart  that  lives  alone. 
Housed,  in  a  dream,  at  distance  from  the  kind  ! 

Such  happiness,  wherever  it  be  known, 
Is  to  be  pitied,  for  '  tis  surely  blind. 

But  welcome  fortitude  and  patient  cheer, 
And  frequent  sights  of  what  is  to  be  borne  ! 

Such  sights,  or  worse,  as  are  before  me  here  !  — 
Not  without  hope  we  suffer  and  we  mourn. 

William  Wordsworth,  1805. 


O  EE  what  a  lovely  shell, 
^-^  Small  and  pure  as  a  pearl, 
Lying  close  to  my  foot, 
Frail,  but  a  work  divine. 
Made  so  fairily  well 
With  delicate  spire  and  whorl. 
How  exquisitely  minute, 
A  miracle  of  desigrn. 


l8  QUIET  HOURS, 

What  is  it  ?  a  learned  man 
Could  give  it  a  clumsy  name  ! 
Let  him  name  it  who  can, 
The  beauty  would  be  the  same. 

The  tiny  cell  is  forlorn, 
Void  of  the  httle  living  will 
That  made  it  stir  on  the  shore. 
Did  he  stand  at  the  diamond  door 
Of  his  house  in  a  rainbow  frill  ? 
Did  he  push,  when  he  was  uncurled, 
A  golden  foot  or  a  fairy  horn 
Thro'  his  dim  water-world  ? 

Slight,  to  be  crushed  with  a  tap 
Of  my  finger-nail  on  the  sand, 
Small,  but  a  work  divine, 
f>ail,  but  of  force  to  withstand. 
Year  upon  year,  the  shock 
Of  cataract  seas  that  snap 
The  three-decker's  oaken  spine 
Athwart  the  ledges  of  rock, 
Here  on  the  Breton  strand. 

Alfred  Tennyson 


NA  TURE. 


THE   RECOLLECTION. 

I. 
TT  7E  wandered  to  the  pine  forest 

'  ^       That  skirts  the  ocean's  foam  ; 
The  lightest  wind  was  in  its  nest, 

The  tempest  in  its  home. 
The  whispering  waves  were  half  asleep, 

The  clouds  were  gone  to  play, 
And  on  the  bosom  of  the  deep 

The  smile  of  Heaven  lay  ; 
It  seemed  as  if  the  hour  were  one 

Sent  from  beyond  the  skies, 
Which  scattered  from  above  the  sun 

A  light  of  Paradise. 

II. 

We  paused  amid  the  pines  that  stood 

The  giants  of  the  waste, 
Tortured  by  storms  to  shapes  as  rude 

As  serpents  interlaced. 
And  soothed  by  every  azure  breath, 

That  under  heaven  is  blown. 
To  harmonies  and  hues  beneath. 

As  tender  as  its  own  ; 
Now  all  the  tree-tops  lay  asleep. 

Like  green  waves  on  the  sea, 
As  still  as  in  the  silent  deep 

The  ocean- woods  may  be. 


20  QUIET  HOURS. 


III. 


How  calm  it  was  !  —  the  silence  there 

By  such  a  chain  was  bound, 
That  even  the  busy  woodpecker 

Made  stiller  by  her  sound 
The  inviolable  quietness  ; 

The  breath  of  peace  we  drew 
With  its  soft  motion  made  not  less 

The  calm  that  round  us  grew. 
There  seemed  from  the  remotest  seat 

Of  the  wide  mountain  waste, 
To  the  soft  flower  beneath  our  feet, 

A  magic  circle  traced, 
A  spirit  interfused  around, 

A  thrilling  silent  life  ; 
To  momentary  peace  it  bound 

Our  mortal  nature's  strife  ;  — 
And  still  I  felt  the  centre  of 

The  magic  circle  there, 
Was  one  fair  form  that  filled  with  love 

The  lifeless  atmosphere. 


We  paused  beside  the  pools  that  lie 
Under  the  forest  bough  ; 

Each  seemed  as  't  were  a  little  sky 
Gulfed  in  a  world  below  ; 


A'A  TV  RE.  2 1 

A  firmament  of  purple  light, 

Which  in  the  dark  earth  lay, 
More  boundless  than  the  depth  of  night, 

And  purer  than  the  day  — 
In  which  the  lovely  forests  grew, 

As  in  the  upper  air, 
More  perfect  both  in  shape  and  hue 

Than  any  spreading  there. 
There  lay  the  glade  and  neighboring  lawn, 

And  through  the  dark-green  wood 
The  white  sun  twinkling  like  the  dawn 

Out  of  a  speckled  cloud. 
Sweet  views  which  in  our  world  above 

Can  never  well  be  seen, 
Were  imaged  by  the  water's  love 

Of  that  fair  forest  green  : 
And  all  was  interfused  beneath 

With  an  Elysian  glow, 
An  atmosphere  without  a  breath, 

A  softer  day  below. 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley. 

AN    EVENING   VOLUNTARY. 

COMPOSED    UPON    AN    EVENING    OF   EXTRAORDINARY    SPLENDOR 
AND    BEAUTY. 

I. 

T  TAD  this  effulgence  disappeared 

"^     With  flying  haste,  I  might  have  sent 
Among  the  speechless  clouds,  a  look 
Of  blank  astonishment  ; 


22 


QUIET  HOURS. 


But  't  is  endued  with  power  to  stay, 

And  sanctify  one  closing  day, 

That  frail  mortality  may  see  — 

What  is  ?  —  ah  no,  but  what  ca7i  be  ! 

Time  was  when  field  and  watery  cove 

With  modulated  echoes  rang, 

While  choirs  of  fervent  angels  sang 

Their  vespers  in  the  grove  ; 

Or,  crowning,  star-hke,  each  some  sovereign  height, 

Warbled,  for  heaven  above  and  earth  below. 

Strains  suitable  to  both.  —  Such  holy  rite, 

Methinks,  if  audibly  repeated  now 

From  hill  or  valley,  could  not  move 

Sublimer  transport,  purer  love, 

Than  doth  this  silent  spectacle  —  the  gleam  — 

The  shadow  and  the  peace  supreme  ! 


II. 

No  sound  is  uttered,  — but  a  deep 
And  solemn  harmony  pervades 
The  hollow  vale  from  steep  to  steep, 
And  penetrates  the  glades. 
Far-distant  images  draw  nigh. 
Called  forth  by  wondrous  potency 
Of  beamy  radiance,  that  imbues 
Whatever  it  strikes  with  gem-like  hues  ! 
In  vision  exquisitely  clear, 
Herds  range  along  the  mountain  side; 
And  glistening  antlers  are  descried, 
And  gilded  flocks  appear. 


NATURE.  23 

Thine  is  the  tranquil  hour,  purpurea!  eve  ! 
But  long  as  god-like  wish,  or  hope  divine, 
Informs  my  spirit,  ne'er  can  1  believe 
That  this  magnificence  is  wholly  thine ! 
From  worlds  not  quickened  by  the  sun 
A  portion  of  the  gift  is  won  ; 
An  intermingling  of  Heaven's  pomp  is  spread 
On  ground  which  British  shepherds  tread. 

III. 

And  if  there  be  whom  broken  ties 

Afflict,  or  injuries  assail, 

Yon  hazy  ridges  to  their  eyes 

Present  a  glorious  scale, 

CHmbing  suffused  with  sunny  air, 

To  stop  —  no  record  hath  told  where! 

And  tempting  fancy  to  ascend, 

And  with  immortal  Spirits  blend  ! 

—  Wings  at  my  shoulders  seem  to  play ; 

But.  rooted  here,  I  stand  and  gaze 

On  those  bright  steps  that  heavenward  raise 

Their  practicable  way. 

Come  forth,  ye  drooping  old  men,  look  abroad, 

And  see  to  what  fair  countries  ye  are  bound  ! 

And  if  some  traveller,  weary  of  his  road. 

Hath  slept  since  noon-tide  on  the  grassy  ground. 

Ye  Genii !  to  his  covert  speed, 

And  wake  him  with  such  gentle  heed 

As  may  attune  his  soul  to  meet  the  dower 

Bestowed  on  this  transcendent  hour  I 


24  QUIET  HOURS. 

IV. 

Such  hues  from  their  celestial  urn 

Were  wont  to  stream  before  mine  eye, 

Where'er  it  wandered  in  the  morn 

Of  blissful  infancy. 

This  glimpse  of  glory  why  renewed  ? 

Nay,  rather  speak  with  gratitude  ; 

For,  if  a  vestige  of  tliose  gleams 

Survived,  'twas  only  in  my  dreams. 

Dread  Power !  whom  peace  and  calmness  serve 

No  less  than  Nature's  threatening  voice, 

If  aught  unworthy  be  my  choice, 

From  Thee  if  I  would  swerve ; 

Oh  !  let  Thy  grace  remind  me  of  the  light 

Full  early  lost,  and  fruitlessly  deplored  ; 

Which,  at  this  moment,  on  my  waking  sight 

Appears  to  shine,  by  miracle  restored ; 

My  soul,  though  yet  confined  to  earth. 

Rejoices  in  a  second  birth  ! 

—  'T  is  past.     The  visionary  splendor  fades. 

And  Night  approaches  with  her  shades. 

William  Wordsworth. 


AN    EVENING   VOLUNTARY. 

^'    A    HIGH    PART    OF    THE    COAST    OF    CUMBERLAND    (eASTER-SUNDAY, 
APRIL    7),    THE    author's    SIXTY-THIRD    BIRTHDAY. 

npHE  sun,  that  seemed  so  mildly  to  retire, 

Flung  back  from  distant  climes  a  streaming  fire, 
Whose  blaze  is  now  subdued  to  tender  grleams, 


NATURE.  25 

Prelude  of  night's  approach  with  soothing  dreams. 
Look  round  —  of  all  the  clouds  not  one  is  moving  ; 
'Tis  the  still  hour  of  thinking,  feeling,  loving. 
Silent  and  steadfast  as  the  vaulted  sky, 
The  boundless  plain  of  waters  seems  to  lie  : 
Comes  that  low  sound  from  breezes  rustling  o'er 
The  grass-crowned  headland  that  conceals  the  shore  ? 
No;  'tis  the  earth-voice  of  the  mighty  sea, 
Whispering  how  meek  and  gentle  he  caii  be  ! 

Thou  Power  Supreme  !  who,  arming  to  rebuke 
Offenders,  dost  put  oiT  the  gracious  look, 
And  clothe  Thyself  with  terrors  like  the  flood 
Of  ocean  roused  into  his  fiercest  mood, 
Whatever  discipline  Thy  will  ordain 
For  the  brief  course  that  must  for  me  remain, 
Teach  me  with  quick-eared  spirit  to  rejoice 
In  admonitions  of  Thy  softest  voice  ! 
Whate'er  the  path  these  mortal  feet  may  trace, 
Breathe  through  my  soul  the  blessing  of  Thy  grace, 
Glad,  through  a  perfect  love,  a  faith  sincere. 
Drawn  from  the  wisdom  that  begins  with  fear  ; 
Glad  to  expand  ;  and,  for  a  season,  free 
From  finite  cares,  to  rest  absorbed  in  Thee  I 

William  Wordswoktil 

TO     LADY     FITZGERALD, 

IN    HER    SEVENTIETH    YEAR. 

OUCH  age  how  beautiful!  O  Lady  bright, 
^^■'^     Whose  mortal  lineaments  seem  all  refined 
By  favoring  Nature  and  a  saintly  mind 


26  QUIET  HOURS. 


1 


.1 


To  something  purer  and  more  exquisite 

Than  flesh  and  blood  ;  whene'er  thou  meet'st  my  sight 

When  I  behold  thy  blanched  unwithered  cheek, 

Thy  temples  fringed  with  locks  of  gleaming  white, 

And  head  that  droops  because  the  soul  is  meek, 

Thee  with  the  welcome  snowdrop  I  compare  ; 

That  child  of  winter,  prompting  thoughts  that  climb 

From  desolation  toward  the  genial  prime  ; 

Or  with  the  moon  conquering  earth's  misty  air,  \ 

And  filling  more  and  more  with  crystal  light 

As  pensive  evening  deepens  into  night. 

William  Wordsworth 


THE    HARVEST   MOON. 

T  TOW  peacefully  the  broad  and  golden  moon 
•^  ■*-     Comes  up  to  gaze  upon  the  reapers'  toil ! 
That  they  who  own  the  land  for  many  a  mile 
May  bless  her  beams,  and  they  who  take  the  boon 
Of  scattered  ears  ;  Oh  !  beautiful !  how  soon 
The  dusk  is  turned  to  silver  without  soil, 
Which  makes  the  fair  sheaves  fairer  than  at  noon, 
And  guides  the  gleaner  to  his  slender  spoil ; 
So,  to  our  souls,  the  Lord  of  love  and  might 
Sends  harvest-hours,  when  daylight  disappears  ; 
When  age  and  sorrow,  hke  a  coming  night, 
Darken  our  field  of  work  with  doubts  and  fears, 
He  times  the  presence  of  His  heavenly  hght 
To  rise  up  softly  o'er  our  silver  hairs. 

Charles  Turner. 


NATURE.  27 


ORION. 


TTOW  oft  I  've  watched  thee  from  the  garden  croft, 
■*■  ^     In  silence,  when  the  busy  day  was  done, 
Shining  with  wondrous  brilliancy  aloft, 
And  flickering  like  a  casement  'gainst  the  sun  : 
I  've  seen  thee  soar  from  out  some  snowy  cloud, 
Which  held  the  frozen  breath  of  land  and  sea, 
Yet  broke  and  severed  as  the  wind  grew  loud.  — 
But  earth-bound  winds  could  not  dismember  thee, 
Nor  shake  thy  frame  of  jewels  ;  I  have  guessed 
At  thy  strange  shape  and  function,  haply  felt 
The  charm  of  that  old  myth  about  thy  belt 
And  sword;  but,  most,  my  spirit  was  possest 
By  His  great  presence.  Who  is  never  far 
From  His  light-bearers,  whether  man  or  star. 

Charles  Turner. 


FROM  "IN    MEMORIAM." 

CXIX. 

O  AD  Hesper  o'er  the  buried  sun, 
*^     And  ready,  thou,  to  die  with  him. 

Thou  watchest  all  things  ever  dim 
And  dimmer,  and  a  glory  done  ; 

The  team  is  loosened  from  the  wain. 
The  boat  is  drawn  upon  the  shore  ; 
Thou  listenest  to  the  closing  door, 

And  life  is  darkened  in  the  brain. 


28  QUIET  HOURS. 

Bright  Phosphor,  fresher  for  the  night, 
By  thee  the  world's  great  work  is  heard 
Beginning,  and  the  wakeful  bird  ; 

Behind  thee  comes  the  greater  light : 

The  market-boat  is  on  the  stream, 
And  voices  hail  it  from  the  brink  ; 
Thou  hear'st  the  village  hammer  clink, 

And  seest  the  moving  of  the  team. 

Sweet  Hesper-Phosphor,  double  name 
For  what  is  one,  the  first,  the  last, 
Thou,  like  my  present  and  my  past. 

Thy  place  is  changed,  thou  art  the  same. 


Alfred  Tennyson. 


NIGHT. 

npHE  sun  descending  in  the  west, 
-■■       The  evening  star  does  shine  ; 
The  birds  are  silent  in  their  nest, 
And  I  must  seek  for  mine. 
The  moon,  like  a  flower 
In  heaven's  high  bower, 
With  silent  delight. 
Sits  and  smiles  on  the  night. 

William  Blake 


MORNING   AND    EVENING. 


A   MORNING   PRAYER. 

T^HE  golden  morn  flames  up  the  eastern  sky, 
-*-       And  what  dark  night  had  hidden  from  every  eye 

All-piercing  daylight  summons  clear  to  view  : 
And  all  the  forests,  vale  or  plain  or  hill, 
That  slept  in  mist  enshrouded,  dark  and  still. 

In  gladsome  light  are  glittering  now  anew. 

Shine  in  my  heart,  and  bring  me  joy  and  light, 
Sun  of  my  darkened  soul,  dispel  its  night. 

And  shed  in  it  the  truthful  day  abroad  ; 
And  all  the  many  gloomy  folds  lay  bare 
Within  this  heart,  that  fain  would  learn  to  wear 

The  pure  and  glorious  likeness  of  its  Lord. 

Glad  with  Thy  light,  and  glowing  with  Thy  love. 
So  let  me  ever  speak  and  think  and  move 

As  fits  a  soul  new-touched  with  life  from  Heaven, 
That  seeks  but  so  to  order  all  her  course 
x*\s  most  to  show  the  glory  of  that  Source 

By  whom  her  strength,  her  hope,  her  life  are  given. 


{ 


30 


QUIET  HOURS. 


I  ask  not  take  away  this  weight  of  care  ; 
No,  for  that  love  I  pray  that  all  can  bear, 

And  for  the  faith  that  whatsoe'er  befall 
Must  needs  be  good,  and  for  my  profit  prove. 
Since  from  my  Father's  heart  most  rich  in  love, 

And  from  His  bounteous  hands  it  cometh  all. 

I  ask  not  that  my  course  be  calm  and  still ; 
No,  here  too.  Lord,  be  done  Thy  holy  will ; 

I  ask  but  for  a  quiet  childlike  heart ; 
Though  thronging  cares  and  restless  toil  be  mine, 
Yet  may  my  heart  remain  forever  Thine, 

Draw  it  from  earth,  and  fix  it  where  Thou  art. 

True  Morning  Sun  of  all  my  life,  I  pray 
That  not  in  vain  Thou  shine  on  me  to-day. 

Be  Thou  my  light,  when  all  around  is  gloom ; 
Thy  brightness,  hope,  and  courage  on  me  shed. 
That  I  may  joy  to  see  when  life  is  fled 

The  setting  sun  that  brings  the  pilgrim  home. 

C.  J.  P.  Spitta. 


^ 


MORNING  AND  EVENING. 


MORNING   HYMN. 

OWEET  Morn  !  from  countless  cups  of  gold 
*^     Thou  liftest  reverently  on  high 
More  incense  fine  than  earth  can  hold, 
To  fill  the  sky. 

One  interfusion  wide  of  love, 

Thine  airs  and  odors  moist  ascend. 

And  'mid  the  azure  depths  above, 
With  light  they  blend. 

The  lark,  by  his  own  carol  blest. 

From  thy  green  arbors  eager  springs ; 

And  his  large  heart  in  little  breast 
Exulting  sings. 

A  joy  from  hidden  paradise 

Is  rippling  down  the  shiny  brooks, 

With  beauty  like  the  gleams  of  eyes 
In  tenderest  looks. 

The  fly  his  jocund  round  inweaves, 
With  choral  strains  the  birds  salute 

The  voiceful  flocks,  and  nothing  grieves, 
And  naught  is  mute. 

In  man,  O  Morn  !  a  loftier  good, 
With  conscious  blessing,  fills  the  soul, 

A  life  by  reason  understood. 
Which  metes  the  whole. 


32  QUIET  HOURS. 

From  earth,  and  earthly  toil  and  strife, 
To  deathless  aims  his  love  may  rise, 

Each  dawn  may  wake  to  better  life, 
With  purer  eyes. 

Such  grace  from  Thee,  O  God  !  be  ours, 
Renewed  with  every  morning's  ray, 

And  freshening  still  with  added  flowers. 
Each  future  day. 

Like  earth,  awake,  and  warm  and  bright 
With  joy  the  spirit  moves  and  burns  ; 

So  up  to  Thee,  O  Fount  of  Light ! 
Our  light  returns. 

loHN  Sterling. 


ECCE  JAM    NOCTIS    TENUATUR   UMBRA. 

T    O,  fainter  now  lie  spread  the  shades  of  night, 
^-^     And  upward  shoot  the  trembling  gleams  of  morn  ; 
Suppliant  we  bend  before  the  Lord  of  Light, 
And  pray  at  early  daw^n, — 

That  His  sweet  charity  may  all  our  sin 
Forgive,  and  ma«t^  our  miseries  to  cease  : 
May  grant  us  health,  grant  us  the  gift  divine 
Of  everirtSting  peace. 

Breviary,  translated  by  Edzuard  Caswall. 


i 


J 


MORNING  AND  EVENING.  33 

MORNING   HYMN. 

VOUCHSAFE,    O    LORD,    TO    KEEP    US   THIS    DAY   WITHOUT   SIN  ! 

T^EAR  Lord  !  Thou  bringest  back  the  morn  ; 
-*-^     Thy  children  wake  ;  Thy  children  pray  : 
O  !  make  our  souls  divinely  yearn  ! 
Pour  Thy  best  beauty  on  the  day  ! 

Yes,  make  our  best  desire  most  strong  ! 

O,  let  not  sin  one  hour  oppress ; 
But  spread  each  shining  hour  along 

The  beauty  of  Thy  holiness. 

In  myriad  gifts  streams  forth  Thy  love  ; 

What  countless  joys  each  minute  brings  ! 
But  O  !  the  cleaving  sin  remove 

That  darkens  all  these  precious  things. 

The  thoughts,  that  in  our  hearts  keep  place, 
Lord,  make  a  holy,  heavenly  throng ; 

And  steep  in  innocence  and  grace 
The  issue  of  each  guarded  tongue. 

Lend  our  slow  feet  that  speed  of  Thine  ; 

Our  busy  hands  from  evil  stay  ; 
Lord  !  help  us  still  to  tasks  divine  — 

Still  keep  us  in  the  heavenly  way. 

The  weaklings  plead  ;  the  sinners  pray  ; 

But,  Lord,  Thy  grace  exceeds  our  sin  : 
We  cannot  ask  too  bright  a  day  ; 

Too  much  of  Thee  we  cannot  win. 

Thomas  Horn  blower  Gill. 


34 


QUIET  HOURS. 


MORNING. 
A  WAKE,  my  soul,  and  with  the  sun 


rv 


Thy  daily  stage  of  duty  run ; 


Shake  off  dull  sloth,  and  joyful  rise 
To  pay  thy  morning  sacrifice. 

In  conversation  be  sincere  ; 
Keep  conscience  as  the  noontide  clear ; 
Think  how  All-seeing  God  thy  ways 
And  all  thy  secret  thoughts  surveys. 

By  influence  of  the  hght  divine 
Let  thy  own  light  to  others  shine ; 
Reflect  all  Heaven's  propitious  rays, 
In  ardent  love  and  cheerful  praise. 

All  praise  to  Thee,  who  safe  hast  kept, 
And  hast  refreshed  me  whilst  I  slept ! 
Grant,  Lord,  when  I  from  death  shall  wake, 
I  may  of  endless  light  partake  ! 

Lord,  I  my  vows  to  Thee  renew ; 
Disperse  my  sins  as  morning  dew ; 
Guard  my  first  springs  of  thought  and  will, 
And  with  Thyself  my  spirit  fill. 

Direct,  control,  suggest  this  day. 

All  I  design,  or  do,  or  say; 

That  all  my  powers,  with  all  their  might, 

In  Thy  sole  glory  may  unite. 

Thomas  Ken,  1700. 


MORNING  AND  EVENING.  35 


COME    TO    ME. 

/^^OME  to  me,  Lord,  when  first  I  wake, 
^-^     As  the  faint  lights  of  morning  break  ; 
Bid  purest  thoughts  within  me  rise, 
Like  crystal  dew-drops  to  the  skies. 

Come  to  me  in  the  sultry  noon, 
Or  earth's  low  communings  will  soon 
Of  Thy  dear  face  eclipse  the  light, 
And  change  my  fairest  day  to  night. 

Come  to  me  in  the  evening  shade; 
And  if  my  heart  from  Thee  have  strayed, 
Oh  !  bring  it  back,  and  from  afar 
Smile  on  me  like  Thine  evening  star. 

Come  to  me  through  life's  varied  way, 
And  when  its  pulses  cease  to  play, 
Then,  Father,  bid  me  come  to  Thee, 
That  where  Thou  art  Thy  child  may  be. 

Henry  V.  T. 


36  QUIET  HOURS. 


0  SILENCE    DEEP   AND    STRANGE. 

r\  SILENCE  deep  and  strange  ! 
^-^     The  earth  doth  yet  in  quiet  slumber  lie, 
No  stir  of  life,  save  on  yon  woodland  range, 
The  tall  trees  bow  as  if  their  Lord  passed  by. 

Like  to  one  new-create, 

1  have  no  memory  of  grief  and  care  ; 

Of  all  the  things  which  vexed  my  soul  of  late 
I  am  ashamed  in  this  calm  morning  air. 

This  world,  with  all  its  band 
Of  clamorous  joys  and  griefs,  shall  be  to  me 
A  bridge  whereon,  my  pilgrim-staff  in  hand, 
I  cross  the  stream  of  Time,  O  Lord,  to  Thee. 

J,    F.    ElCHKNDORF. 


RECTOR  POTENS,  VERAX  DEUS. 

T    ORD  of  eternal  truth  and  might ! 
^^^     Ruler  of  Nature's  changing  scheme  ! 
Who  dost  bring  forth  the  morning  light, 
And  temper  noon's  effulgent  beam : 

Quench  Thou  the  fires  of  hate  and  strife. 

The  wasting  fever  of  the  heart. 
From  perils  guard  our  feeble  life. 

And  to  our  souls  Thy  peace  impart. 

Breviary 


MORNING  AND   EVENING, 


RULES    AND    LESSONS. 

TT^HEN  first  thy  eyes  unveil,  give  thy  soul  leave 
^^       To  do  the  like  ;  our  bodies  but  forerun 
The  spirit's  duty.     True  hearts  spread  and  heave 
L^nto  their  God,  as  flowers  do  to  the  sun. 

Give  Him  thy  first  thoughts  then  ;  so  shalt  thou  keep 
Him  company  all  day,  and  in  Him  sleep. 

Walk  with  thy  fellow-creatures.     Note  the  hush 
And  whispers  amongst  them.     There  's  not  a  spring 
Or  leaf  but  hath  his  morning  hymn.     Each  bush 
And  oak  doth  know  I  AAL     Canst  thou  not  sing  ? 
O  leave  thy  cares  and  follies  !     Go  this  way, 
And  thou  art  sure  to  prosper  all  the  day. 

When  the  world  's  up,  and  every  swarm  abroad, 
Keep  thou  thy  temper:  mix  not  with  each  clay; 
Dispatch  necessities;  life  hath  a  load 
Which  must  be  carried  on,  and  safely  may. 

Yet  keep  those  cares  without  thee,  let  the  heart 
Be  God's  alone,  and  choose  the  better  part. 

Seek  not  the  same  steps  with  the  crowd ;  stick  thou 
To  thy  sure  trot ;  a  constant,  humble  mind 
Is  both  his  own  joy,  and  his  Maker's  too; 
Let  folly  dust  it  on,  or  lag  behind. 
A  sweet  self-privacy  in  a  right  soul 
Outruns  the  earth,  and  lines  the  utmost  pole. 


3^  QUIET  HOURS. 

When  night  comes,  list  thy  deeds ;  make  plain  the  way 
'Tvvixt  heaven  and  thee  ;  block  it  not  with  delays, 
But  perfect  all  before  thou  sleep'st :  then  say, 
"  There  's  one  sun  more  strung  on  my  bead  of  days." 
What 's  good  score  up  for  joy  ;  the  bad  well  scanned 
Wash  off  with  tears,  and  get  thy  Master's  hand. 

Being  laid,  and  dressed  for  sleep,  close  not  thy  eyes 
Up  with  thy  curtains  ;  give  thy  soul  the  wing 
In  some  good  thoughts  ;  so  when  the  day  shall  rise, 
And  thou  unrak'st  thy  fire,  those  sparks  will  bring 

New  flames ;  besides  where  these  lodge,  vain  heats 
mourn 

And  die  ;  that  bush,  where  God  is,  shall  not  burn. 

Henry  Vaughan. 


THE    HOURS. 

'TPHE  minutes  have  their  trusts  as  they  go  by, 
-■-       To  bear  His  love  who  wings  their  viewless  flight ; 
To  Him  they  bear  their  record  as  they  fly, 

And  never  from  their  ceaseless  round  alight. 
Rich  with  the  life  Thou  livest  they  come  to  me, 

Oh  may  I  all  that  hfe  to  others  show  ; 
That  they  from  strife  may  rise  and  rest  in  Thee, 

And  all  thy  peace  in  Christ  by  me  may  know. 
Then  shall  the  morning  call  me  from  my  rest, 

With  joyful  hope  that  I  Thy  child  may  live ; 


MORNING  AND   EVENING.  39 

And  when  the  evening  comes  'twill  make  me  blest, 
To  know  that  Thou  wilt  peaceful  slumbers  give  ; 

Such  as  thou  dost  to  weary  laborers  send, 

Whose  sleep  from  Thee  doth  with  the  dews  descend. 

Jones  Very. 


THE   NIGHT. 

"F^EAR  night!  this  world's  defeat ; 
^^    The  stop  to  busy  fools  ;  care's  check  and  curb ; 
The  day  of  spirits  ;  my  soul's  calm  retreat 
Which  none  disturb  ! 

Christ's  progress  and  his  prayer  time  ; 

The  hours  to  which  high  heaven  doth  chime. 

God's  silent,  searching  flight : 
When  my  Lord's  head  is  filled  with  dew,  and  all 
His  locks  are  wet  with  the  clear  drops  of  night ; 
His  still,  soft  call ; 
His  knocking  time  ;  the  soul's  dumb  watch, 
When  spirits  their  fair  kindred  catch. 

Were  all  my  loud  evil  days 
Calm  and  unhaunted  as  is  thy  dark  tent, 
Wliose  peace  but  by  some  angel's  wing  or  voice 
Is  seldom  rent ; 
Then  I  in  heaven  all  the  year 
Would  keep,  and  never  wander  here. 


40 


QUIET  HOURS. 


There  is  in  God,  some  say, 
A  deep,  but  dazzling  darkness  ;  as  men  here 
Say  it  is  late  and  dusky,  because  they 
See  not  all  clear. 
O  for  that  night !  where  I  in  Him 
Might  live  invisible  and  dim. 

Henry  Vaughan. 


EVENING. 

'  Man  ^oeth  forth  to  his  mork  ajid  to  his  labor  till  the  eveni7ig.'*'* 

T^HE  sun  is  gone,  the  long  clouds  break 

And  sink  adown  his  golden  wake  ; 
Behold  us,  met  now  work  is  done 
To  seek  Thy  grace  at  evensong. 

Half-hearted,  tardy,  cold  are  we. 
Warm  us,  and  draw  our  souls  to  Thee  ; 
Draw  us  to  follow,  as  the  sun, 
Thy  servant,  vassal  worlds  draw  on. 

We  would  not  meagre  gifts  down-call 
When  Thou  dost  yearn  to  yield  us  all ; 
But  for  this  hfe,  this  httle  hour. 
Ask  all  Thy  love  and  care  and  power. 

Show  us  thy  pureness,  here,  on  earth  ; 
Into  Thy  kingdom  give  us  birth. 
We  would  not  wish  or  dare,  to  wait 
In  better  worlds  a  better  state. 


MOAWIXu   A\n   ErEXI.VG.  41 

But  save  us  now,  and  cleanse  us  now, 
Receive  each  soul  and  hear  its  vow  : 
"  My  father's  God,  on  Thee  I  call. 
Thou  shalt  be  my  God,  and  my  All." 

Jean  Ingelow. 

ABIDE   WITH    ME. 

A  BIDE  with  me  !  fast  falls  the  eventide  ; 

The  darkness  deepens  ;  Lord,  with  me  abide ! 
When  other  helpers  fail,  and  comforts  flee, 
Help  of  the  helpless,  oh,  abide  with  me  ! 

Swift  to  its  close  ebbs  out  life's  little  day ; 
Earth's  joys  grow  dim  ;  its  glories  pass  away  ; 
Change  and  decay  in  all  around  I  see  ; 

0  Thou,  who  changest  not,  abide  with  me  ! 

1  need  Thy  presence  every  passing  hour; 

What  but  Thy  grace  can  foil  the  tempter's  power  1 
Who  like  Thyself  my  guide  and  stay  can  be  ? 
Through  cloud  and  sunshine,  oh,  abide  with  me  ! 

I  fear  no  foe,  with  Thee  at  hand  to  bless  ; 
Ills  have  no  weight,  and  tears  no  bitterness  ; 
Where  is  death's  sting  ?  where,  grave,  thy  victory  ? 
1  triumph  still,  if  Thou  abide  with  me  ! 

Henry  F.  Lyte. 


42 


QUIET  HOURS. 


EVENING. 

^  'T^  IS  gone,  that  bright  and  orbed  blaze 

"*■    Fast  fading  from  our  wistful  gaze  ; 
Yon  mantling  cloud  has  hid  from  sight 
The  last  faint  pulse  of  quivering  light. 

When  round  Thy  wondrous  works  below 
My  searching  rapturous  glance  I  throw, 
Tracing  out  wisdom,  power,  and  love, 
In  earth  or  sky,  in  stream  or  grove  ;  — 

When  with  dear  friends  sweet  talk  I  hold, 
And  all  the  flowers  of  life  unfold  ; 
Let  not  my  heart  within  me  burn. 
Except  in  all  I  Thee  discern. 

Abide  with  me  from  morn  till  eve, 
For  without  Thee  I  cannot  live  ; 
Abide  wdth  me  when  night  is  nigh, 
For  without  Thee  I  dare  not  die. 


Come  near  and  bless  us  when  we  wake, 
Ere  through  the  world  our  way  we  take  ; 
Till  in  the  ocean  of  Thy  love 
We  lose  ourselves  in  heaven  above. 

John  Keble. 


iMOKNI.VG  AXD  EVE  XING,  43 


VESPER    HYMN. 

'T^HE  day  is  done,  the  weary  day  of  thought  and  toil 
-*■       is  past, 

Soft  falls  the  twilight  cool  and  gray  on  the  tired  earth 
at  last : 

By  wisest  teachers  \vearied,  by  gentlest  friends  op- 
pressed. 

In  Thee  alone,  the  soul,  outworn,  refreshment  finds 
and  rest. 

Bend,  Gracious  Spirit,  from  above,  like  these  over- 
arching skies, 

And  to  Thy  firmament  of  Love  lift  up  these  longing 
eyes ; 

And,  folded  by  Thy  sheltering  Hand,  in  refuge  still 
and  deep, 

Let  blessed  thoughts  from  Thee  descend,  as  drop  the 
dews  of  sleep. 

And  when  refreshed  the  soul  once  more  puts  on  new 

life  and  power ; 
Oh,  let  Thine  image.  Lord,  alone,  gild  the  first  waking 

hour  ! 
Let  that   dear  Presence  dawn  and  glow,   fairer  than 

Morn's  first  ray, 
And  Thy  pure  radiance  overflow  the  splendor  of  the  day. 


44  QUIET  HOURS, 

So  in  the  hastening  even,  so  in  the  coming  morn, 
When  deeper  slumber  shall  be  given,  and  fresher  life 

be  born, 
Shine   out,  true    Light!  to   guide   my  way  amid  that 

deepening  gloom. 
And  rise,  O  Morning  Star,  the  first  that  dayspring  to 

illume ! 

I  cannot  dread  the  darkness  where  Thou  wilt  watch 

o'er  me, 
Nor  smile  to  greet  the  sunrise  unless  Thy  smile  I  see ; 
Creator,  Saviour,  Comforter  !  on  Thee  my  soul  is  cast ; 
At  morn,   at  night,  in  earth,  in  heaven,  be  Thou  my 

First  and  Last ! 

Eliza  Scudder,  October,  1874. 

NIGHT. 

I  THANK  Thee,  Father,  that  the  night  is  near 
When  I  this  conscious  being  may  resign  ; 
Whose  only  task  Thy  words  of  love  to  hear, 
And  in  Thy  acts  to  find  each  act  of  mine  ; 
A  task  too  great  to  give  a  child  like  me, 
The  myriad-handed  labors  of  the  day, 
Too  many  for  my  closing  eyes  to  see. 
Thy  words  too  frequent  for  my  tongue  to  say ; 
Yet  when  Thou  see'st  me  burdened  by  Thy  love. 
Each  other  gift  more  lovely  then  appears, 
For  dark-robed  night  comes  hovering  from  above, 
And  all  Thine  other  gifts  to  me  endears  ; 
And  while  within  her  darkened  couch  I  sleep. 
Thine  eyes  untired  above  will  constant  vigils  keep. 

Jones  Very. 


INWARD    STRIFE. 


SIN. 


LORD,  with  what  care  hast  Thou  begirt  us  round  ! 
Parents  first  season  us  :  then  schoohiiasters 
DeHver  us  to  laws  ;  they  send  us  bound 
To  rules  of  reason,  holy  messengers, 

Pulpits  and  Sundays,  sorrow  dogging  sin, 
Afflictions  sorted,  anguish  of  all  sizes, 
Fine  nets  and  stratagems  to  catch  us  in. 

Bibles  laid  open,  millions  of  surprises. 

Blessings  beforehand,  ties  of  gratefulness, 
The  sound  of  glory  ringing  in  our  ears  ; 
Without,  our  shame  :  within,  our  consciences  ; 

Angels  and  grace,  eternal  hopes  and  fears. 

Yet  all  these  fences  and  their  whole  array 
One  cunning  bosom-sin  blows  quite  away. 

George  Herlert. 


1 


46  QUIET  HOURS. 


THE    SINFUL   WISH. 

T  F  I  have  sinned  in  act,  I  may  repent ; 

-*-      If  I  have  erred  in  thought,  I  may  disclaim 

My  silent  error,  and  yet  feel  no  shame ; 

But  if  my  soul,  big  with  an  ill  intent, 

Guilty  in  will,  by  fate  be  innocent, 

Or  being  bad,  yet  murmurs  at  the  curse 

And  incapacity  of  being  worse, 

That  makes  my  hungry  passion  still  keep  Lent 

In  keen  expectance  of  a  Carnival,  — 

Where,  in  all  worlds  that  round  the  sun  revolve 

And  shed  their  influence  on  this  passive  ball. 

Abides  a  power  that  can  my  soul  absolve  ? 

Could  any  sin  survive  and  be  forgiven, 

One  sinful  wish  would  make  a  hell  of  heaven. 

Hartley  Coleridge. 


"MULTUM   DILEXIT.'^ 

SHE  sat  and  w^ept  beside  His  feet ;  the  weight 
Of  sin  oppressed  her  heart :  for  all  the  blame, 
And  the  poor  malice  of  the  worldly  shame, 
To  her  was  past,  extinct,  and  out  of  date  ; 
Only  the  sin  remained,  —  the  leprous  state ; 
She  would  be  melted  by  the  heat  of  love, 
By  fires  far  fiercer  than  are  blown  to  prove 
And  purge  the  silver  ore  adulterate. 


INWARD  STRIFE.  47 

She  sat  and  wept,  and  with  her  untressed  hair 

Still  wiped  the  feet  she  was  so  blest  to  touch  ; 

And  He  wiped  off  the  soiling  of  despair 

From  her  sweet  soul,  because  she  loved  so  much. 

I  am  a  sinner,  full  of  doubts  and  fears  : 

Make  me  a  humble  thing  of  love  and  tears. 

Hartley  Coleridge. 


/^  FATHER  !  I  have  sinned.     I  have  done 
^-^     The  thing  I  thought  I  never  more  should  do. 
My  days  were  set  before  me,  light  all  through. 
But  I  have  made  them  dark,  —  alas  !  too  true, — 
And  drawn  dense  clouds  between  me  and  my  Sun. 

Forgive  me  not,  for  grievous  is  my  sin : 
Yea,  very  deep  and  dark.     Alas,  I  see 
Such  blackness  in  it,  that  I  may  not  be 
Forgiven  of  myself,  —  how  then  of  Thee  ?  — 
Vile,  vile  without;  black,  utter  black,  within! 

If  my  shut  eyes  should  dare  their  lids  to  part, 
I  know  how  they  must  quail  beneath  the  blaze 
Of  Thy  Love's  greatness.     No ;  I  dare  not  raise 
One  prayer,  to  look  aloft,  lest  it  should  gaze 
On  such  forgiveness  as  would  break  my  heart ! 

Henry  Septimus  Sutton. 


48  QUIET  HOURS. 


LOW   SPIRITS. 

TI?EV^ER  and  fret  and  aimless  stir, 
-*-        And  disappointed  strife, 
All  chafing,  unsuccessful  things 
Make  up  the  sum  of  life. 

Love  adds  anxiety  to  toil. 
And  sameness  doubles  cares. 

While  one  unbroken  chain  of  work 
The  flagging  temper  wears. 

The  hght  and  air  are  dulled  with  smoke ; 

The  streets  resound  with  noise ; 
And  the  soul  sinks  to  see  its  peers 

Chasing  their  joyless  joys. 

Voices  are  round  me,  smiles  are  near, 

Kind  welcomes  to  be  had. 
And  yet  my  spirit  is  alone. 

Fretful,  outworn,  and  sad. 

Sweet  thought  of  God,  now  do  thy  work, 

As  thou  hast  done  before  ; 
Wake  up,  and  tears  will  wake  with  thee, 

And  the  dull  mood  be  o'er. 

The  very  thinking  of  the  thought, 

Without  or  praise  or  prayer. 
Gives  light  to  know,  and  life  to  do. 

And  marvellous  streno-th  to  bear. 


INWARD  STRIFE.  49 

0  there  is  music  in  that  thought, 
Unto  a  heart  unstrung, 

Like  sweet  bells  at  the  evening  time 
Most  musically  rung. 

'Tis  not  His  justice,  or  His  power, 

Beauty  or  blest  abode. 
But  the  mere  unexpancled  thought 

Of  the  eternal  God. 

It  is  not  of  His  wondrous  works. 

Nor  even  that  He  is  ; 
Words  fail  it,  but  it  is  a  thought 

Which  by  itself  is  bliss. 

1  bless  Thee,  Lord,  for  this  kind  check 
To  spirits  over  free. 

And  for  all  things  that  make  me  feel 
More  helpless  need  of  Thee. 

Frederick  Wm.   Faber. 


AN    APPEAL. 

TT  THAT  mean  these  slow^  returns  of  love,  these  days 
Of  withered  prayer,  of  dead,  unflowering  praise  ? 
These  hands  of  twilight  laid  on  me,  to  keep 
Dusk  veils  on  holy  vision  ?     This  most  deep, 
Most  eyelid  heavy,  lamentable  sleep? 
4 


so 


QUIET  HOURS. 


Lo,  time  is  precious  as  it  was  before ; 

As  sinful  sin  ;  my  goal  as  unattained : 

And  yet  I  drowse,  and  dream,  and  am  not  pained 

At  God  far  off  as  ever  heretofore, 

At  sin  as  flagrant  as  of  old,  or  more. 

Dear  Lord,  what  can  I  do  ?     I  come  to  Thee, 

1  have  none  other  helper.     Thou  art  free 

To  save  me,  or  to  kill.     But  I  appeal 

To  Thy  dear  love,  which  cannot  elsewise  deal 

Than  prove  Thyself  my  friend.  Thy  will  my  weal. 

Wake,  wake  me,  Lord  !     Arouse  me.     Let  Thy  fire 

Loosen  these  icicles,  and  make  them  drop 

And  run  into  warm  tears ;  for  I  aspire 

To  hold  Thee  faster,  dearer,  warmer,  nigher, 

And  love  and  serve  Thee  henceforth  without  stop. 

Henry  Septimus  Sutton. 


A   CRY   OF   THE   SOUL. 

'O   DIEU    DE   v6rIT6,    POUR    QUI    SEUL    JE    SOUPIKE." 

/^   GOD  of  truth,  for  whom  alone  I  sigh, 

^^^     Knit  Thou  my  heart  by  strong,  sweet  cords  to  Thee. 

I  tire  of  hearing  ;  books  my  patience  try. 

Untired  to  Thee  I  cry ; 

Thyself  my  all  shalt  be. 


INWARD  STRIFE.  51 

Lord,  be  Thou  near  and  cheer  my  lonely  way ; 

With  Thy  sweet  peace  my  aching  bosom  fill ; 
Scatter  my  cares  and  fears  ;  my  griefs  allay  ; 

And  be  it  mine  each  day 

To  love  and  please  Thee  still. 

My  God  !  Thou  hearest  me  ;  but  clouds  obscure 
Even  yet  Thy  perfect  radiance,  Truth  divine ! 
Oh  for  the  stainless  skies,  the  splendors  pure, 
The  joys  that  aye  endure. 
Where  Thine  own  glories  shine  ! 

From  the  French  of  Pierre  Corneille. 


DIVINE   LOVE. 

THOU  hidden  love  of  God  !  whose  height, 
Whose  depth  unfathomed,  no  man  knows - 
I  see  from  far  Thy  beauteous  light, 

Inly  I  sigh  for  Thy  repose. 
My  heart  is  pained  ;  nor  can  it  be 
At  rest,  till  it  finds  rest  in  Thee. 

Thy  secret  voice  invites  me  still 

The  sweetness  of  Thy  yoke  to  prove  ; 

And  fain  I  would  ;  but  though  my  will 
Seem  fixed,  yet  wide  my  passions  rove ; 

Yet  hindrances  strew  all  the  way  — 

I  aim  at  Thee,  yet  from  Thee  stray. 


52  QUIET  HOURS. 

'T  is  mercy  all,  that  thou  hast  brought 

My  mind  to  seek  her  peace  in  Thee  ! 
Yet  while  I  seek,  but  find  Thee  not, 

No  peace  my  wandering  soul  shall  see. 
O  when  shall  all  my  wanderings  end. 
And  all  my  steps  to  Theeward  tend  ? 

Is  there  a  thing  beneath  the  sun  \ 

That  strives  with  Thee  my  heart  to  share  ?  \ 

Ah,  tear  it  thence,  and  reign  alone —  "^ 

The  Lord  of  every  motion  there  !  'V 

Then  shall  my  heart  from  earth  be  free, 

When  it  hath  found  repose  in  Thee.  i 

-4- 

O  Love,  Thy  sovereign  aid  impart  "i 

To  save  me  from  low-thoughted  care;  ; 

Chase  this  self-will  through  all  my  heart, 

Through  all  its  latent  mazes  there  ;  \ 

Make  me  Thy  duteous  child,  that  I  j 

Ceaseless  may  ^'  Abba,    Father,"  cry  !  -^ 

Each  moment  draw  from  earth  away  a 

My  heart,  that  lowly  waits  Thy  call ;  k 

Speak  to  my  inmost  soul,  and  say,  '* 

"  I  am  thy  Love,  thy  God,  thy  All  !  "  1 

To  feel  Thy  power,  to  hear  Thv  voice,  j 

To  taste  Thy  love,  be  all  my  choice.  j 

Gerhard  Tersteegen.         , 


INWARD  STRIFE.  53 


PETTISHNESS. 

A  TY  mind  was  ruffled  witli  small  cares  to-day, 
^^^     And  I  said  pettish  words,  and  did  not  keep 
Long-suffering  patience  well;  and  now  how  deep 
My  trouble  for  this  sin  !  in  vain  I  weep 
For  foolish  words  I  never  can  unsay. 

Yet  not  in  vain,  oh  surely  not  in  vain  !  — 
This  sorrow  must  compel  me  to  take  heed  ; 
And  surely  I  shall  learn  how  much  I  need 
Thy  constant  Strength  my  own  to  supersede, 
And  all  my  thoughts  to  patience  to  constrain. 

Yes,  I  shall  learn  at  last ;  though  I  neglect, 
Day  after  day,  to  seek  my  help  from  Thee. 
O  aid  me,  that  I  always  recollect 
This  gentle-heartedness  ;  and  O  correct 
Whatever  else  of  sin  Thou  seest  in  me  ! 

Henry  Septimus  Sutton,  1854. 


PRAYER   FOR    STRENGTH. 

TipATHER,  before  Thy  footstool  kneeling, 
Once  more  my  heart  goes  up  to  Thee, 
For  aid,  for  strength,  to  Thee  appeahng. 
Thou  who  alone  canst  succor  me. 


54  QUIET  HOURS. 

Hear  me  !  for  heart  and  flesh  are  failing, 

My  spirit  yielding  in  the  strife  ; 
And  anguish,  wild  as  unavailing, 

Sweeps  in  a  flood  across  my  life. 

Not  mine  the  grief  which  words  may  lighten ; 

Not  mine  the  tears  of  common  woe  : 
The  pang  with  which  my  heart-strings  tighten, 

Only  the  All-seeing  One  may  know. 

And  I  am  weak  ;  my  feeble  spirit 

Shrinks  from  hfe's  task  in  wild  dismay  : 

Yet  not  that  Thou  that  task  wouldst  spare  it, 
My  Father,  do  I  dare  to  pray. 

Into  my  soul  Thy  might  infusing, 

Strengthening  my  spirit  by  Thine  own. 

Help  me,  all  other  aid  refusing, 
To  cling  to  Thee,  and  Thee  alone. 

And  oh  !  in  my  exceeding  weakness, 

Make  Thy  strength  perfect ;  Thou  art  strong  : 

Aid  me  to  do  Thy  will  with  meekness,  — 
Thou,  to  whom  all  my  powers  belong. 

Oh  !  let  me  feel  that  Thou  art  near  me  ; 

Close  to  Thy  side,  I  shall  not  fear  : 
Hear  me,  O  Strength  of  Israel,  hear  me  ; 

Sustain  and  aid  !  in  mercy  hear. 

Anonvmous. 


INWARD  STRIFE.  55 


UNCERTAINTY. 


o 


FATHER,  hear! 
The  way  is  dark,  and  I  would  fain  discern 
What  steps  to  take,  into  which  path  to  turn  ; 
Oh  !  make  it  clear. 


It  is  Thy  child, 
Who  sits  in  dim  uncertainty  and  doubt. 
Waiting  and  longing  till  the  hght  shine  out 

Upon  the  wild. 

My  Father,  see 
I  trust  the  faithfulness  displayed  of  old, 
I  trust  the  love  that  never  can  grow  cold,  — 

I  trust  in  Thee. 

And  Thou  wilt  guide  ; 
For  Thou  hast  promised  never  to  forsake 
j   The  soul  that  Thee  its  confidence  doth  make  ; 
I  I  Ve  none  beside. 

! 

Thou  knowest  me  ; 
I   Thou  knowest  how  I  now  in  darkness  grope  ; 
!  And  oh  !  thou  knowest  that  my  only  hope 
I  Is  found  in  Thee. 

^  Christian  Intelligencer. 


I 


S6  QUIET  HOURS, 


THE   LOST    CHERITH. 

**  He  drank  of  the  brook.     And  it  came  to  pass  after  a  while  that  the 
brook  dried  up."     i  Kings  xvii.  6,  7.  \ 


I 


'T^HOU  hast  but  claimed  Thine  own.  Lord,  I  surrender 
-*-       Thy  precious  loan ;  for  I  would  do  Thy  will. 
Let  me  not  doubt  Thy  love,  so  true  and  tender  ; 

Say  to  my  quivering  heart-strings,  "Peace  ;  be  still ! " 

Thou  heard'st  my  cry  when  sore  athirst  and  weary, 
And  on  my  path  in  pity  cast  Thine  eyes  ; 

Then,  in  the  arid  waste,  all  parched  and  dreary. 
Thou  bad'st  for  me  a  bubblino^  streamlet  rise. 


"  Drink,"  Lord,  thou  saidst ;  and  I  in  mute  thanksgiving  ' 
Drank  of  the  stream  that  by  the  wayside  burst. 

Sweet  drops  of  love  from  Thy  deep  fount  upspringing,  ^\ 

That  soothed  my  weariness,  and  quenched  my  thirst.  1 

Now  at  Thy  word  dries  up  my  pleasant  Cherith  ;  "\ 

Oh,  let  me  not  in  selfish  grief  repine  !  <* 

Only  Thy  voice  my  mourning  spirit  heareth  ;  ^ 

Thou  hast  not  taken  mine,  O  Lord,  but  Thine,  j 

"  Nay,  thine  and  Mine  "  (thus  came  a  whisper  stealing  \ 

On  my  sad  heart,  and  tenderly  it  fell)  ;  d 

"  That  spring  of  joy  I  sent.  My  love  revealing,  S 

And  its  deep  secret  thou  must  ponder  well.  | 


k 


INWARD  STRIFE.  57 

"  'T  is  Mine  and  thine.     It  was  My  love  that  lent  it, 
Thy  lonely  pilgrim  path  to  wander  by ; 

Fear  not,  my  child,  it  was  thy  Father  sent  it, 
And  the  same  love  now  bids  the  brook  run  dry. 

•'  The  cistern  fails  — the  fountain  flows  for  ever! 

Child,  to  My  care  thy  dearest  ones  resign. 
My  arms  uphold  thee,  I  will  leave  thee  never, 

And  all  I  am  and  all  1  have  are  thine." 

O  Lord  !  Thou  art  my  fountain  ever  flov/ing; 

Love  passing  knowledge,  knowing  no  decline  ; 
All,  all  is  love,  in  taking  or  bestowing, 

And  my  sweet  wayside  brook  is  Thine  and  mine. 

Anna  Shipton 


MY   QUEST. 

T  ONG  had  I  wavered  'twixt  belief  and  doubt, 
-^— '  This  way  and  that,  turning  my  faith  about, 
To  keep  the  truth  and  sift  the  error  out. 

My  hold  on  truth  seemed  lessening  day  by  day. 
The  ancient  landmarks  failed  to  point  the  way ; 
I  could  not  reason,  I  could  only  pray 

That  He  who  gladly  hungry  souls  doth  feed 
Might  give  me  what  was  lacking  to  my  need, 
And  into  ways  of  truth  my  footsteps  lead. 


ss 


QUIET  HOURS. 


And  while  my  strong  desire  to  God  I  brought, 
That  He  would  grant  the  light  and  peace  I  sought, 
These  words  of  Christ  sprang  sudden  to  my  thought,  — 

"  More  blessed  'tis  to  give  than  to  receive." 
No  more  —  no  mystic  dogma  to  believe, 
Only  a  thread  in  each  day's  life  to  weave  ; 

Only  a  common  duty,  in  such  wise 
Transfigured  by  new  light,  that  straight  my  eyes 
Saw  how  above  all  truth  true  loving  lies  ; 

Saw  that,  forgetful  of  my  own  soul's  need. 

Filling  my  life  with  gracious  thought  and  deed, 

I  might  leave  time  —  and  God  —  to  shape  my  creed. 

My  prayer  was  answered  ;  not  as  I  had  thought, 
I  had  not  found  the  knowledge  that  I  sought. 
To  live  without  it  was  the  lesson  taught. 

The  end  of  all  my  long  and  weary  quest 

Is  only  failure  ;  yet  a  sense  of  rest, 

Of  deep,  unwonted  quiet,  fills  my  breast. 

And  though  some  vexing  doubts  still  hold  their  place. 

Yet  is  my  faith  no  measure  for  His  grace. 

Whose  hand  still  holds  me  though  He  hide  His  face. 


And  day  by  day  I  think  I  read  more  plain 
This  crowning  truth,  that,  spite  of  sin  and  pain, 
No  life  that  God  has  given  is  lived  in  vain  ; 


I 


INWARD  STRIFE.  59 

But  each  poor,  weak  and  sin-polluted  soul 
Shall  struggle  free  at  last,  and  reach  its  goal, 
A  perfect  part  of  God's  great  perfect  whole. 

My  heart  believes  —  yet  still  I  long  for  light. 

Surely  the  morning  cometh  after  night. 

When  Faith,  the  watcher,  shall  give  place  to  sight  ! 

Littell's  Living  Age. 


FROM    '^IN    MEMORIAM." 

CXXII. 

'T^HAT  which  we  dare  invoke  to  bless  ; 
-*"    Our  dearest  faith,  our  ghastHest  doubt ; 
He,  They,  One,  All  ;  within,  without ; 
The  Power  in  darkness  whom  we  guess  ; 

I  found  Him  not  in  world  or  sun, 
Or  eagle's  wing,  or  insect's  eye ; 
Nor  through  the  questions  men  may  try. 

The  petty  cobwebs  we  have  spun  : 

If  e'er  when  faith  had  fallen  asleep, 
I  heard  a  voice,  "  Believe  no  more," 
And  heard  an  ever-breaking  shore 

That  tumbled  in  the  Godless  deep ; 

A  warmth  within  the  breast  would  melt 
The  freezing  reason's  colder  part. 
And  like  a  man  in  wrath  the  heart 

Stood  up  and  answered,  ''  I  have  felt." 


^o  QUIET  HOURS. 

No,  like  a  child  in  doubt  and  fear  : 
But  that  bUnd  clamor  made  me  wise ; 
Then  was  I  as  a  child  that  cries, 

But,  crying,  knows  his  father  near  ; 

And  what  I  am  beheld  again 

What  is,  and  no  man  understands  ; 
And  out  of  darkness  came  the  hands 

That  reach  through  nature,  moulding  men. 

Alfred  Tennyson 


LORD,   I    HAVE    LAIN. 


u 


ORD,  I  have  lain 
Barren  too  long,  and  fain 
I  would  redeem  the  time,  that  I  may  be 

Fruitful  to  Thee  ; 
Fruitful  in  knowledge,  love,  obedience. 

Ere  I  go  hence  : 

That  when  I  come 
At  harvest  to  be  reaped,  and  brought  home. 

Thine  angels  may 
My  soul  in  Thy  celestial  garner  lay. 

Where  perfect  joy  and  bliss 

Eternal  is. 

If  to  entreat 
A  crop  of  purest  wheat, 
A  blessing  too  transcendent  should  appear 
For  me  to  hear. 


IXIVARD  STRIFE.  6 1 

Lord,  make  me  what  Thou  wilt,  so  Thou  wilt  take 

What  thou  dost  make, 

And  not  disdain 
To  house  me,  though  among  Thy  coarsest  grain  ; 

So  I  may  be 
Laid  with  the  gleanings  gathered  by  Thee, 

When  the  full  sheaves  are  spent, 

I  am  content. 

Francis  Quarles. 


LIFE   AND   DUTY. 


LIFE    MOSAIC. 

TV/TASTER,  to  do  great  work  for  Thee  my  hand 
•^^■^     Is  far  too  weak  !  Thou  givest  what  may. suit, — 

Some  little  chips  to  cut  with  care  minute, 
Or  tint,  or  grave,  or  pohsh.     Others  stand 
Before  their  quarried  marble,  fair  and  grand, 

And  make  a  life-work  of  the  great  design 

Which  Thou  hast  traced;  or  many-skilled,  combine 
To  build  vast  temples,  gloriously  planned  ; 
Yet  take  the  tiny  stones  which  I  have  wrought. 

Just  one  by  one,  as  they  were  given  by  Thee, 
Not  knowing  what  came  next  in  Thy  wise  thought. 
Set  each  stone  by  Thy  Master-hand  of  grace  ; 

Form  the  mosaic  as  Thou  wilt  for  me, 
And  in  Thy  temple  pavement  give  it  place. 

Frances  Ridley  Havergal. 


WORK. 


i 


XT  THAT  are  we  set  on  earth  for  ?  Say,  to  toil ; 
^  ^    Nor  seek  to  leave  thy  tending  of  the  vines, 
For  all  the  heat  o'  the  day,  till  it  declines. 
And  death's  mild  curfew  shall  from  work  assoil. 


i 


LIFE  AND  DUTY.  63 

God  did  anoint  thee  with  his  odorous  oil, 

To  wrestle,  not  to  reign  ;  and  He  assigns 

All  thy  tears  over,  like  pure  crystallines, 

For  younger  fellow-workers  of  the  soil 

To  wear  for  amulets.     So  others  shall 

Take  patience,  labor,  to  their  heart  and  hand, 

From  thy  hand,  and  thy  heart,  and  thy  brave  cheer, 

And  God's  grace  fructify  through  thee  to  all. 

The  least  flower,  with  a  brimming  cup,  may  stand, 

And  share  its  dew-drop  with  another  near. 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning. 

ONE    DAY   AT   A   TIME. 

/^NLY  one  day 

^^     To  bear  the  strain 

Of  living,  and  to  battle  with  the  pain. 

Only  one  day 

To  satisfy 
With  food  and  covering,  as  the  hours  slip  by. 

Only  one  day  ; 

To-morrow's  care. 
To-morrow,  if  it  come,  itself  shall  bear. 

Only  one  day  ; 

Then  waste  it  not 
In  futile  plannings  where  the  Loj'd  is  7iot, 

Only  one  day 

God  gives  to  me 
At  once  —  oh,  may  I  use  it  faithfully  ! 

Emma   S.  Watson. 


64  QUIET  HOURS. 


GOOD    TEMPER. 

O  IXCE  trifles  make  the  sum  of  human  things, 
^-^     And  half  our  misery  from  our  foibles  springs  ; 
Since  life's  best  joys  consist  in  peace  and  ease, 
And  though  but  few  can  serve,  yet  all  may  please  ; 
O  let  the  ungentle  spirit  learn  from  hence, 
A  small  unkindness  is  a  great  offence. 

Hannah   More. 


FROM    ''THE   AXGEL    IX    THE    HOUSE." 

"P?OR  something  that  abode  endued 
-*-  With  temple-like  repose,  an  air 
Of  life's  kind  purposes  pursued 

With  ordered  freedom  sweet  and  fair. 
A  tent  pitched  in  a  world  not  right 

It  seemed,  whose  inmates,  every  one, 
On  tranquil  faces  bore  the  light 

Of  duties  beautifully  done, 
And  humbly,  though  they  had  few  peers, 

Kept  their  own  laws,  which  seemed  to  be 
The  fair  sum  of  six  thousand  years' 

Traditions  of  civility. 

Coventry  Patmore. 


LIFE  AND  DUTY.  65 


FROM   ''IN    MEMORIAM." 

cix. 

'^'^HE  churl  in  spirit,  howe'er  he  veil 
^       His  want  in  forms  for  fashion's  sake, 
Will  let  his  coltish  nature  break 
At  seasons  through  the  gilded  pale : 

For  who  can  always  act  ?     But  he, 
To  whom  a  thousand  memories  call, 
Not  being  less  but  more  than  all 

The  gentleness  he  seemed  to  be, 

So  wore  his  outward  best,  and  joined 

Each  office  of  the  social  hour 

To  noble  manners,  as  the  flower 
And  native  growth  of  noble  mind ; 

Nor  ever  nairowness  or  spite, 
Or  villain  fancy  fleeting  by. 
Drew  in  the  expression  of  an  eye. 

Where  God  and  Nature  met  in  light ; 

And  thus  he  bore  without  abuse 
The  grand  old  name  of  gentleman. 
Defamed  by  every  charlatan. 

And  soiled  with  all  ignoble  use. 

Alfred  Tennyson. 


66  QUIET  HOURS. 


"SHE   WAS   A   PHANTOM   OF   DELIGHT." 

OHE  was  a  phantom  of  delight 

*^     When  first  she  gleamed  upon  my  sight ; 

A  lovely  apparition,  sent 

To  be  a  moment's  ornament ; 

Her  eyes  as  stars  of  twilight  fair ; 

Like  twilight's,  too,  her  dusky  hair ; 

But  all  things  else  about  her  drawn 

From  May-time  and  the  cheerful  dawn ; 

A  dancing  shape,  an  image  gay, 

To  haunt,  to  startle,  and  waylay. 

I  saw  her  upon  nearer  view, 

A  spirit,  yet  a  woman  too  ! 

Her  household  motions  light  and  free, 

And  steps  of  virgin  liberty; 

A  countenance  in  which  did  meet 

Sweet  records,  promises  as  sweet ; 

A  creature  not  too  bright  or  good 

For  human  nature's  daily  food ; 

For  transient  sorrows,  simple  wiles. 

Praise,  blame,  love,  kisses,  tears,  and  smiles. 

And  now  I  see  with  eye  serene 

The  very  pulse  of  the  machine ; 

A  being  breathing  thoughtful  breath, 

A  traveller  between  life  and  death  ; 

The  reason  firm,  the  temperate  will. 

Endurance,  foresigl  t,  strength,  and  skill ; 


I 

I 


LIFE   AND   DUTY.  67 

A  perfect  woman,  nobly  planned, 
To  warn,  to  comfort,  and  command; 
And  yet  a  spirit  still,  and  bright 
With  something  of  an  angel  light. 

Wii.LiAM  Wordsworth,   1804, 


THE    SECRET   OF   A   HAPPY    DAY. 

'The  secret  of  the  Lord  is  with  them  that  fear  Him."     Ps.  xxv.  14. 

JUST  to  let  thy  Father  do 
What  He  will : 
Just  to  know  that  He  is  true. 

And  be  still. 
Just  to  follow  hour  by  hour 

As  He  leadeth  ; 
Just  to  draw  the  moment's  power 
As  it  needeth. 
Just  to  trust  Him,  this  is  all  ! 

Then  the  day  will  surely  be 
Peaceful,  whatsoe'er  befall. 

Bright  and  blessed,  calm  and  free. 

Just  to  trust,  and  yet  to  ask 

Guidance  still  ; 
Take  the  training  or  the  task, 

As  He  will. 
Just  to  take  the  loss  or  gain. 

As  He  sends  it  ; 
Just  to  take  the  joy  or  pain, 

As  He  lends  it. 


68  QUIET  HOURS. 

He  who  formed  thee  for  His  praise 
Will  not  miss  the  gracious  aim  ; 

So  to-day  and  all  thy  days 

Shall  be  moulded  for  the  same  ! 

Just  to  leave  in  His  dear  hand 

Little  things, 
All  we  cannot  understand, 

All  that  stings. 
Just  to  let  Him  take  the  care 

Sorely  pressing, 
Finding  all  we  let  Him  bear 
Changed  to  blessing. 
This  is  all !  and  yet  the  way 

Marked  by  Him  who  loves  thee  best: 
Secret  of  a  happy  day, 

Secret  of  His  promised  rest. 

Frances  Ridley  Havergal. 

ABOU  BEX  ADHEM  (may  his  tribe  increase  !) 
Awoke  one  night  from  a  deep  dream  of  peace, 
And  saw  within  the  moonlight  in  the  room, 
Making  it  rich  and  like  a  lily  in  bloom, 
An  angel  writing  in  a  book  of  gold  ; 
Exceeding  peace  had  made  Ben  Adhem  bold, 
And  to  the  Presence  in  the  room  he  said, 
"  What  writest  thou  ? "'     The  vision  raised  its  head. 
And  with  a  look  made  all  of  sweet  accord, 
Answered,  ''The  names  of  those  who  lov^e  the  Lord." 
"And  is  mine  one  ?  "  said  Adhem.     '•  Nay,  not  so," 
Replied  the  angel.     Adhem  spoke  more  low, 


LIFE  AND  DUTY,  69 

But  cheerly  still,  and  said,  "  I  pray  thee,  then, 

Write  me  as  one  that  loves  his  fellow-men." 

The  angel  wrote  and  vanished  ;  the  next  night 

It  came  again,  with  a  great  wakening  light, 

And  showed  the  names  whom  love  of  God  had  blest. 

And  lo !  Ben  Adhem's  name  led  all  the  rest. 

Leigh  Hunt. 

VIRTUE. 

O  WEET  Day,  so  cool,  so  calm,  so  bright, 
*^     The  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky  : 
The  dew  shall  weep  thy  fall  to-night ; 
For  thou  must  die. 

Sweet  Rose,  whose  hue  angry  and  brave 
Bids  the  rash  gazer  wipe  his  eye, 
Thy  root  is  ever  in  its  grave. 

And  thou  must  die. 

Sweet  Spring,  full  of  sweet  days  and  roses, 
A  box  where  sweets  compacted  lie. 
My  music  shows  ye  have  your  closes, 
And  all  must  die. 

Only  a  sweet  and  virtuous  soul. 
Like  seasoned  timber,  never  gives ; 
But  though  the  whole  world  turn  to  coal, 
Then  chiefly  lives. 

George  Herbert. 


70 


QUIET  HOURS. 


T3E  useful  where  thou  livest,  that  they  may 
^-^     Both  want,  and  wish  thy  pleasing  presence  still. 
Kindness,  good  parts,  great  places  are  the  way 
To  compass  this.     Find  out  men's  wants  and  will, 

And  meet  them  there.     All  worldly  joys  go  less 

To  the  one  joy  of  doing  kindnesses. 

George  Herbert. 


I 


THE   DELECTABLE    MOUNTAINS. 

T    SEE  them  far  away, 

-■-     In  their  calm  beauty,  on  the  evening  skies, 
Across  the  golden  west  their  summits  rise. 

Bright  with  the  radiance  of  departing  day  ; 
And  often  ere  the  sunset  light  was  gone, 
Gazing  and  longing,  I  have  hastened  on, 
As  with  new  strength,  all  weariness  and  pain 
Forgotten  in  the  hope  those  blissful  heights  to  gain. 

Heaven  lies  not  far  beyond, 
But  these  are  hills  of  earth,  our  changeful  air 
Circles  around  them,  and  the  dwellers  there 

Still  own  mortality's  mysterious  bond. 
The  ceaseless  contact,  the  continued  strife 
Of  sin  and  grace,  which  can  but  close  with  life, 
Is  not  yet  ended,  and  the  Jordan's  roar 
Still  sounds  between  their  path  and  the  Celestial  shore. 


LIFE  AND  DUTY.  Jl 

But  tlicre  the  pilgrims  say, 
On  these  calm  heights,  the  tumult  and  the  noise 
Of  all  our  busy  cares  and  restless  joys 

Has  almost  in  the  distance  died  away  ; 
All  the  past  journey  a  "right  way'-  appears, 
Thoughts  of  the  future  wake  no  faithless  fears, 
And,  through  the  clouds,  to  their  rejoicing  eyes, 
The  city's  golden  streets  and  pearly  gates  arise. 

Courage,  poor  fainting  heart ! 
These  happy  ones  in  the  far  distance  seen 
Were  sinful  wanderers  once,  as  thou  hast  been, 

Weary  and  sorrowful,  as  now  thou  art. 
Linger  no  longer  on  the  lonely  plain, 
Press  boldly  onward,  and  thou  too  shalt  gain 
Their  vantage-ground,  and  then  with  vigor  new. 
All  thy  remaining  race  and  pilgrimage  pursue. 

Ah  !  far  too  faint,  too  poor 
Are  all  our  views  and  aims  —  we  only  stand 
Within  the  borders  of  the  promised  land, 

Its  precious  things  we  seek  not  to  secure  ; 
And  thus  our  hands  hang  down,  and  oft  unstrung 
Our  harps  are  left  the  willow-trees  among. 
Lord  !  lead  us  forward,  upward,  till  we  know 
How  much  of  heavenly  bliss  may  be  enjoyed  below. 

Anonymous. 


72  QUIET  HOURS. 


THE    DIVINE   LIFE. 

T  TUMBLE,  and  teachable,  and  mild, 
-*■-■-     O  may  I,  as  a  little  child, 

My  lowly  Master's  steps  pursue  ! 
Be  anger  to  my  soul  unknown  ; 
Hate,  envy,  jealousy,  be  gone  ; 

In  love  create  Thou  all  things  new. 

My  will  be  swallowed  up  in  Thee  ; 
Light  in  Thy  light  still  may  I  see, 

Beholding  Thee  with  open  face  ; 
Called  the  full  power  of  faith  to  prove, 
Let  all  my  hallowed  heart  be  love, 

And  all  my  spotless  life  be  praise. 

Charles  Wesley. 


TRUE    MANLINESS. 

T^HRICE  happy  he  w^hose  name  is  writ  above, 

■*'       And  doeth  good  though  gaining  infamy  ; 
Requiteth  evil  turns  with  hearty  love. 

And  recks  not  what  befalls  him  outwardly  :  "5 

Whose  worth  is  in  himself,  and  only  bliss 

In  his  pure  conscience  that  doth  nought  amiss  ; 

Who  placeth  pleasure  in  his  purged  soul. 
And  virtuous  life  his  treasure  doth  esteem  ; 

Who  can  his  passions  master  and  control. 
And  that  true  lordly  manliness  doth  deem  ; 


.1 


LIFE   AXD   DUTY.  73 

Who  from  this  world  himself  hath  clearly  quit, 
Counts  nought  his  own  but  what  lives  in  his  sprite. 

So,  when  his  sprite  from  this  vain  world  shall  flit, 

It  bears  all  with  it  whatso'er  was  dear 
Unto  itself,  passing  in  easy  fit. 

As  kindly  ripened  corn  comes  out  of  th'  ear. 
Thus,  mindless  of  what  idle  men  will  say, 
He  takes  his  own  and  stilly  goes  his  way. 

Henry  Moke. 


THE    CHARACTER   OF   A   HAPPY   LIFE. 

T  TOW  happy  is  he  born  and  taught 

That  serveth  not  another's  will ; 
Whose  armor  is  his  honest  thought. 
And  simple  truth  his  utmost  skill ; 

Whose  passions  not  his  masters  are ; 

Whose  soul  is  still  prepared  for  death, 
Untied  unto  the  world  by  care 

Of  public  fame,  or  private  breath  ;  — 

W' ho  envies  none  that  chance  doth  raise, 

Nor  vice  ;  who  never  understood 
How  deepest  wounds  are  given  by  praise  ; 

Nor  rules  of  state,  but  rules  of  good ; 

Who  hath  his  life  from  rumors  freed ; 

Whose  conscience  is  his  strong  retreat ; 
Whose  state  can  neither  flatterers  feed, 

Nor  ruin  make  oppressors  great ; 


74  QUIET  HOURS. 

Who  God  doth  late  and  early  pray 
More  of  His  grace  than  gifts  to  lend ; 

And  entertains  the  harmless  day 
With  a  religious  book  or  friend. 

This  man  is  freed  from  servile  bands 

Of  hope  to  rise,  or  fear  to  fall ; 
Lord  of  himself,  though  not  of  lands, 

And  having  nothing,  yet  hath  all. 

Sir  Henry  Wotton. 


! 

I 
I 


BEFORE    LABOR. 

TIj^ORTH  in  Thy  name,  O  Lord,  I  go, 
-*-        My  daily  labor  to  pursue  ; 
Thee,  only  Thee,  resolved  to  know, 
In  all  I  think,  or  speak,  or  do. 

The  task  Thy  wisdom  hath  assigned, 
Oh,  let  me  cheerfully  fulfil ! 
In  all  my  works  Thy  presence  find. 
And  prove  Thy  acceptable  will. 

Preserve  me  from  my  calling's  snare. 
And  hide  my  simple  heart  above, 
Above  the  thorns  of  choking  care, 
The  gilded  baits  of  worldly  love. 

Thee  may  I  set  at  my  right  hand. 
Whose  eyes  my  inmost  substance  see  ; 
And  labor  on  at  Thy  command, 
And  offer  all  my  works  to  Thee. 


LIFE   AA'D  DUTY.  75 

Give  me  to  bear  Thy  easy  yoke, 
And  every  moment  watch  and  pray; 
And  still  to  things  eternal  look, 
And  hasten  to  Thy  glorious  day. 

For  Thee  delightfully  employ 

Whate'er  Thy  bounteous  grace  hath  given  ; 

And  run  my  course  with  even  joy, 

And  closely  walk  with  Thee  to  heaven. 

Charles  Wesley 


ENTIRE    CONSECRATION. 

/^  GOD,  what  offering  shall  I  give 

^-^     To  Thee,  the  Lord  of  earth  and  skies  .^ 

My  spirit,  soul,  and  flesh  receive, 

A  holy,  Uving  sacrifice. 
Small  as  it  is,  'tis  all  my  store  ; 
More  shouldst  Thou  have,  if  I  had  more. 

Now  then,  my  God,  thou  hast  my  soul ; 

No  longer  mine,  but  Thine  I  am  : 
Guard  thou  Thine  own,  possess  it  whole  ! 

Cheer  it  with  hope,  with  love  inflame  ! 
Thou  hast  my  spirit;  there  display 
Thy  glory  to  the  perfect  day. 

Thou  hast  my  flesh.  Thy  hallowed  shrine, 

Devoted  solely  to  Thy  will: 
Here  let  Thy  light  for  ever  shine  : 

This  house  still  let  Thy  presence  fill  : 


76  QUIET  HOURS. 

O  Source  of  Life,  live,  dwell,  and  move 
In  me,  till  all  my  life  be  love  ! 

Send  down  Thy  likeness  from  above, 

And  let  this  my  adorning  be  : 
Clothe  me  with  wisdom,  patience,  love, 

With  lowliness  and  purity  : 
Than  gold  and  pearls  more  precious  far. 
And  brighter  than  the  morning  star. 

Lord,  arm  me  with  Thy  Spirit's  might ; 

Since  I  am  called  by  Thy  great  name, 
In  Thee  let  all  my  thoughts  unite, 

Of  all  m.y  works  be  Thou  the  aim  : 
Thy  love  attend  me  all  my  days. 
And  my  sole  business  be  Thy  praise. 

Joachim  Lange.      Tr.  by  John  Wesley 


'T'AKE  my  life,  and  let  it  be 
-*"     Consecrated,  Lord,  to  Thee. 

Take  my  moments  and  my  days ; 
Let  them  flow  in  ceaseless  praise. 

Take  my  hands,  and  let  them  move 
At  the  impulse  of  Thy  love. 

Take  my  feet,  and  let  them  be 
Swift,  and  ''  beautiful  "  for  Thee. 


LIFE  AND  DUTY,  77 

Take  my  voice,  and  let  me  sing 
Always,  only,  for  my  King. 

Take  my  lips,  and  let  them  be 
Filled  with  messages  from  Thee. 

Take  my  silver  and  my  gold  ; 
Not  a  mite  would  I  withhold. 

Take  my  intellect,  and  use 

Every  power  as  Thou  shalt  choose. 

Take  my  will,  and  make  it  Thine  ; 
It  shall  be  no  longer  mine. 

Take  my  heart ;  it  is  Thine  own  ; 
It  shall  be  Thy  royal  throne. 

Take  my  love ;  my  Lord,  I  pour 
At  Thy  feet  its  treasure-store. 

Take  myself,  and  I  will  be 
Ever,  only,  all  for  Thee. 

Frances  Ridley  Havergal. 


THE   ELIXIR. 


'T^EACH  me,  my  God  and  King, 
-*"    In  all  things  Thee  to  see, 
And  what  I  do  in  anything, 
To  do  it  as  for  Thee. 


78  QUIET  HOURS. 

A  man  that  looks  on  glass, 

On  it  may  stay  his  eye  ; 
Or,  if  he  please th,  through  it  pass, 

And  then  the  heaven  espy. 

All  may  of  Thee  partake  : 

Nothing  can  be  so  mean, 
Which  with  his  tinctm'e  (for  Thy  sake) 

Will  not  grow  bright  and  clean. 

A  servant  with  this  clause 

Makes  drudgery  divine  : 
Who  sweeps  a  room,  as  for  Thy  laws, 

Makes  that  and  th'  action  fine. 

This  is  the  famous  stone 

That  turneth  all  to  gold  : 
For  that  which  God  doth  touch  and  ow^n 

Cannot  for  less  be  told. 

George  Herbert. 


SONNET. 

"TV yTETHOUGHT  that  in  a  solemn  church  I  stood. 
^^^     Its  marble  acres,  ^vorn  with  knees  and  feet, 
Lay  spread  from  door  to  door,  from  street  to  street. 
Midway  the  form  hung  high  upon  the  rood 
Of  Him  who  gave  His  life  to  be  our  good  ; 
Beyond  priests  flitted,  bowed,  and  murmured  meet 
Among  the  candles  shining  still  and  swxet. 
Men  came  and  went,  and  worshipped  as  they  could. 


LIFE  AND  DUTY.  79 

And  still  their  dust  a  woman  with  her  broom, 
Bowed  to  her  work,  kept  sweeping  to  the  door. 
Then  saw  I,  slow  through  all  the  pillared  gloom, 
Across  the  church  a  silent  figure  come  : 
''  Daughter,"  it  said,  *'  thou  sweepest  well  my  floor  !  " 
It  is  the  Lord,  I  cried,  and  saw  no  more. 

George  Macdonald. 


SENSITIVENESS. 

'T^IME  was,  I  shrank  from  what  was  right, 

-*-    From  fear  of  what  was  wrong ; 
I  would  not  brave  the  sacred  fight, 
Because  the  foe  was  strong. 

But  now  I  cast  that  finer  sense 

And  sorer  shame  aside ; 
Such  dread  of  sin  was  indolence, 

Such  aim  at  heaven  was  pride. 

So  when  my  Father  calls,  I  rise, 

And  calmly  do  my  best  ; 
Leaving  to  Him,  with  silent  eyes 

Of  hope  and  fear,  the  rest. 

I  step,  I  mount  where  He  has  led ; 

Men  count  my  baitings  o'er  ;  — 
I  know  them  ;  yet,  though  self  I  dread, 

I  love  His  precept  more. 

John  Henry  Newman. 


QUIET  HOURS. 


*'  For  none  of  us  liveth  to  hiinself  and  no  man  dieth 
to  hijnselfy 

T  TE  with  good  gifts  that  most  is  blest, 
■^     Or  stands  for  God  above  the  rest, 
Let  him  so  think  —  "  To  serve  the  dear, 
The  lowlier  children  I  am  here. 


*'  It  is  the  children's  bread  I  break ; 
He  trusts  me  with  it  for  their  sake  ; 
(Hunger  I  must  if  none  it  shares) 
It  is  but  mine  when  it  is  theirs. 

"  That  which  I  teach,  it  most  is  mine, 
Dear  child  of  God,  to  make  it  thine  ; 
When  thou  hast  learned  it,  I  shall  see 
The  perfect  meaning  first  in  thee. 

"  That  song  I  made,  it  was  not  mine, 
Nor  fraught  with  incense  for  the  shrine, 
Till,  when  thou  sang'st  it  sweetly  through, 
I  with  thy  voice  sang  praises  too. 


"  That  which  I  am,  it  is  not  mine ; 
The  earth  unto  the  moon  doth  shine  — 
Not  to  herself,  for  oft  her  way 
Seems  but  a  dark  and  cloudy  day. 


LIFE  AND  DUTY.  8 1 

**  O  Church  of  God  !  my  life  is  lent 
For  yours,  to  spend  and  to  be  spent ; 
O  Christ  of  God  !  let  my  death  be 
Not  to  myself  but  Thee  —  but  Thee  !  " 

Amen. 

Je.an  Inge.'.o 


THE   VOICE    IN    THE   TWILIGHT. 

T  WAS  sitting  alone  towards  the  twilight, 
-*-      Widi  spirit  troubled  and  vexed, 
W^ith  thoughts  that  were  morbid  and  gloomy 
And  faith  that  was  sadly  perplexed. 

Some  homely  work  I  was  doing 
For  the  child  of  my  love  and  care, 

Some  stitches  half  wearily  setting 
In  the  endless  need  of  repair. 

But  my  thoughts  were  about  the  "  building," 
The  work  some  day  to  be  tried ; 

And  that  only  the  gold,  and  the  silver, 
And  the  precious  stones  should  abide. 

And  remembering  my  own  poor  efforts, 
The  wretched  work  I  had  done, 

And,  even  when  trying  most  truly, 
The  meagre  success  I  had  won ! 

"  It  is  nothing  but  wood,  hay,  and  stubble/' 
I  said  :  "  it  will  all  be  burned  — 

This  useless  fruit  of  the  talents 
One  day  to  be  returned. 
6 


82  QUIET  HOURS. 

"And  I  have  so  longed  to  serve  Him, 
And  sometimes  I  know  I  have  tried  ; 

But  I  'm  sure  when  He  sees  such  building, 
He  will  never  let  it  abide." 

Just  then,  as  I  turned  the  garment, 
That  no  rent  should  be  left  behind. 

My  eye  caught  an  odd  little  bungle 
Of  mending  and  patchwork  combined. 

My  heart  grew  suddenly  tender, 
And  something  bhnded  my  eyes 

With  one  of  those  sweet  intuitions 
That  sometimes  make  us  so  wise. 

Dear  child,  she  wanted  to  help  me  ; 

I  knew  'twas  the  best  she  could  do  ; 
But  O,  what  a  botch  she  had  made  it  — 

The  gray  mismatching  the  blue ! 

And  yet  —  can  you  understand  it  ?  — 
With  a  tender  smile  and  a  tear. 

And  a  half  compassionate  yearning, 
I  felt  her  grown  more  dear. 

Then  a  sweet  voice  broke  the  silence, 
And  the  dear  Lord  said  to  me, 

"  Art  thou  tenderer  for  the  httle  child 
Than  I  am  tender  for  thee  ?  " 


And  there  in  the  deepening  twilight 
I  seemed  to  be  clasping  a  hand, 

And  to  feel  a  great  love  constraining  me 
Stronger  than  any  command. 


LIFE  AXD   DUTY.  '^Z 

Then  I  knew  by  the  thrill  of  sweetness 
'T  was  the  hand  of  the  Blessed  One, 

Which  would  tenderly  guide  and  hold  me 
Till  all  the  labor  is  done. 

So  my  thoughts  are  nevermore  gloomy, 

My  faith  no  longer  is  dim  ; 
But  my  heart  is  strong  and  restful, 

And  mine  eyes  are  unto  Him. 

K.  H.  Johnson. 

"  Ye   also,  as  lively  stojtes,  are   bttilt  tip  a  spiritual 
Jiottse.'''' 

O  UCH  as  have  not  gold  to  bring  Thee, 
*^    They  bring  thanks  —  Thy  grateful  sons  ; 
Such  as  have  no  song  to  sing  Thee, 
Live  Thee  praise  —  Thy  silent  ones. 

Such  as  have  their  unknown  dwelling, 

Secret  from  Thy  children  here, 
Known  of  Thee,  will  Thee  be  telling 

How  Thy  ways  witli  them  are  dear. 

None  the  place  ordained  refuseth, 

They  are  one,  and  they  are  all 
Living  stones,  the  Builder  chooseth 

For  the  courses  of  His  wall. 

Now  Thy  work  by  us  fulfilling. 
Build  us  in  Thy  house  divine  ; 
;         Each  one  cries,  *'  I,  Lord,  am  willing, 
'  Whatsoever  place  be  mine." 


L 


§4  QUIET  HOURS, 

Some,  of  every  eye  beholden, 
Hewn  to  fitness  for  the  height, 

By  Thy  hand  to  beauty  moulden, 
Show  Thy  workmanship  in  Hght. 

Other,  Thou  dost  bless  with  station 
Dark,  and  of  the  foot  downtrod. 

Sink  them  deep  in  the  foundation  — 
Buried,  hid  with  Christ  in  God. 

Jean  Ingelow. 


WORK   ON    EARTH. 

TT7HY  dost  thou  talk  of  death,  laddie  ? 
^  ^       Why  dost  thou  long  to  go  ? 
The  Master  that  hath  placed  thee  here 
Hath  work  for  thee  to  do. 

Why  dost  thou  talk  of  heaven,  laddie  t 
What  wouldst  thou  say  in  heaven 

When  the  Master  asks,  "What  hast  thou  done 
With  the  talents  I  have  given  ? 

"  I  gave  thee  wealth  and  influence, 
And  the  poor  around  thee  spread : 

Where  are  the  sheep  and  lambs  of  mine 
That  thou  hast  reared  and  fed  1 

"  I  gave  thee  wit  and  eloquence, 

Thy  brethren  to  persuade  : 
Where  are  the  thousands  by  thy  word 

More  wise  and  holy  made  1 


LIFE  AND  DUTY.  85 

"  I  placed  thee  in  a  land  of  light, 

Where  the  Gospel  round  thee  shone  : 

Where  is  the  heavenly-mindedness 
I  find  in  all  my  own  ? 

"  And  last  I  sent  thee  chastisement, 

That  thou  mightst  be  my  son  : 
Where  is  the  trusting  faith  that  says, 

'  Father,  Thy  will  be  done  '  ? " 

John  Wilson. 


NOW   AND   AFTERWARDS. 

"two  hands  upon  the  breast,  and  labor  is  past." 

Russian  Proverb. 

*'  npWO  hands  upon  the  breast, 
-^       And  labor  's  done  ; 
Two  pale  feet  crossed  in  rest  — 

The  race  is  won  ; 
Two  eyes  with  coin-weights  shut. 

And  all  tears  cease; 
Two  lips  where  grief  is  mute, 
Anger  at  peace  ;  "  — 
So  pray  we  oftentimes,  mourning  our  lot: 
God  in  His  kindness  answereth  not. 

"  Two  hands  to  work  addrest 

Aye  for  His  praise  ; 
Two  feet  that  never  rest, 

Walking  His  ways  ; 


86  QUIET  HOURS, 

1 

Two  eyes  that  look  above  ^ 

Through  all  their  tears  ;  ;: 

Two  lips  still  breathing  love,  | 

Not  wrath,  nor  fears  ;  "  i 

So  pray  we  afterwards,  low  on  our  knees  ;  ! 

"  Pardon  those  erring  prayers  !  Father,  hear  these."   - 

Dinah  Maria  Craik     I 


SONNETS 

FROM    "within   and  WITHOUT." 

f~^0  thou  into  thy  closet ;  shut  thy  door; 

^-^    And  pray  to  Him  in  secret :   He  will  hear: 

But  think  not  thou,  by  one  wild  bound,  to  clear 

The  numberless  ascensions,  more  and  more, 

Of  starry  stairs  that  must  be  climbed,  before 

Thou  comest  to  the  Father's  likeness  near ; 

And  bendest  down  to  kiss  the  feet  so  dear 

That,  step  by  step,  their  mounting  flights  passed  o'er. 

Be  thou  content  if  on  thy  weary  need 

There  falls  a  sense  of  showers  and  of  the  spring ; 

A  hope,  that  makes  it  possible  to  fling 

Sickness  aside,  and  go  and  do  the  deed; 

For  highest  aspiration  will  not  lead 

Unto  the  calm  beyond  all  questioning. 

Hark,  hark,  a  voice  amid  the  quiet  intense  ! 
It  is  thy  Duty  waiting  thee  without. 
Rise  from  thy  knees  in  hope,  the  half  of  doubt; 
A  hand  doth  pull  thee  —  it  is  Providence  : 


LIFE  AND  DUTY.  87 

Open  thy  door  straightway,  and  get  thee  hence; 
Go  forth  into  the  tumult  and  the  shout ; 
Work,  love,,  with  workers,  lovers,  all  about ; 
Of  noise  alone  is  born  the  inward  sense 
Of  silence  ;  and  from  action  springs  alone 
The  inward  knowledge  of  true  love  and  faith. 
Then,  weary,  go  thou  back  with  failing  breath, 
And  in  thy  chamber  make  thy  prayer  and  moan  ; 
One  day  upon  His  bosom,  all  thine  own, 
Thou  shalt  lie  still,  embraced  in  holy  death. 

And  do  not  fear  to  hope.     Can  poet's  brain 

More  than  the  father's  heart  rich  good  invent? 

Each  time  we  smell  the  autumn's  dying  scent, 

We  know  the  primrose  time  will  come  again ; 

Not  more  we  hope,  nor  less  would  soothe  our  pain. 

Be  bounteous  in  thy  faith,  for  not  misspent 

Is  confidence  unto  the  Father  lent : 

Thy  need  is  sown  and  rooted  for  His  rain. 

His  thoughts  are  as  thine  own  ;  nor  are  His  ways 

Other  than  thine,  but  by  their  loftier  sense 

Of  beauty  infinite  and  love  intense. 

Work  on.     One  day,  beyond  all  thoughts  of  praise, 

A  sunny  joy  will  crown  thee  with  its  rays ; 

Nor  other  than  thy  need,  thy  recompense. 

George  Macdonald 


QUIET  HOURS. 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  PILGRIM. 

/"^OME,  brethren,  let  us  go  ! 
^^     The  evening  closeth  round, 
'T  is  perilous  to  linger  here 
On  this  wild  desert  ground. 

Come,  towards  eternity 
Press  on  from  strength  to  strength, 
Nor  dread  your  journey's  toils  nor  length. 

For  o:ood  its  end  shall  be. 


We  shall  not  rue  our  choice, 

Though  straight  our  path  and  steep, 
We  know  that  He  who  called  us  here 
His  word  shall  ever  keep. 
Then  follow,  trusting ;  come, 
And  let  each  set  his  face 
Toward  yonder  fair  and  blessed  place, 
Intent  to  reach  our  home. 

Come,  children,  let  us  go ! 
Our  Father  is  our  guide  ; 
And  when  the  way  grows  steep  and  dark, 
He  journeys  at  our  side. 
Our  spirits  He  would  cheer. 
The  sunshine  of  His  love 
Revives  and  helps  us  as  we  rove. 
Ah,  blest  our  lot  e'en  here! 


LIFE  AND   DUTY.  89 

Come,  children,  let  us  go ! 

We  travel  hand  in  hand  ; 
Each  in  his  brother  finds  his  joy- 
In  this  wild  stranger  land. 
The  strong  be  quick  to  raise 
The  weaker  when  they  fall; 
Let  love  and  peace  and  patience  bloom 
In  ready  help  for  all. 

Friend  of  our  perfect  choice, 

Thou  Joy  of  all  that  live, 
Being  that  know'st  not  chance  or  change. 
What  courage  dost  Thou  give  ! 
All  beauty,  Lord,  we  see. 
All  bliss  and  life  and  love. 
In  Him  in  whom  we  live  and  move, 
And  we  are  glad  in  Thee  ! 

Gerhard  Tersteegen,  1731 


WORLDLY   PLACE. 

JP'VEN  in  a  palace^  life  ?nay  be  led  well! 

So  spoke  the  imperial  sage,  purest  of  men, 
Marcus  Aurelius.  —  But  the  stifling  den 
Of  common  life,  where,  crowded  up  pell-mell. 

Our  freedom  for  a  little  bread  we  sell. 
And  drudge  under  some  foolish  master's  ken, 
Who  rates  us,  if  we  peer  outside  our  pen,  — 
Matched  with  a  palace,  is  not  this  a  hell  ? 


90  QUIET  HOURS. 

Even  in  a  palace  I     On  his  truth  sincere, 
Who  spoke  these  words,  no  shadow  ever  came; 
And  when  my  ill-schooled  spirit  is  aflame 


Some  nobler,  ampler  stage  of  life  to  win, 

I  '11  stop  and  say :  *'  There  were  no  succor  here  ! 

The  aids  to  noble  hfe  are  all  within.'' 

Matthew  Arnold. 


QUIET   WORK. 

ONE  lesson,  Nature,  let  me  learn  of  thee. 
One  lesson  which  in  every  wind  is  blown, 
One  lesson  of  two  duties  kept  at  one 
Though  the  loud  world  proclaim  their  enmity  — 

Of  toil  unsevered  from  tranquilhty  ; 
Of  labor,  that  in  lasting  fruit  outgrows 
Far  noisier  schemes,  accomplished  in  repose, 
Too  great  for  haste,  too  high  for  rivalry. 

Yes,  while  on  earth  a  thousand  discords  ring, 
Man's  senseless  uproar  mingling  with  his  toil, 
Still  do  thy  quiet  ministers  move  on, 

Their  glorious  tasks  in  silence  perfecting ; 
Still  working,  blaming  still  our  vain  turmoil. 
Laborers  that  shall  not  fail,  when  man  is  gone. 

Matthew  Arnold. 


LIFE   AND   DUTY.  9 1 


NOT    IN    VAIN. 

T    ET  me  not  deem  that  I  was  made  in  vain, 
^^^     Or  that  my  being  was  an  accident 
Which  Fate,  in  working  its  sublime  intent, 
Not  wished  to  be,  to  hinder  would  not  deign. 
Each  drop  uncounted  in  a  storm  of  rain 
Hath  its  own  mission,  and  is  duly  sent 
To  its  own  leaf  or  blade,  not  idly  spent 
'Mid  myriad  dimples  on  the  shipless  main. 
The  very  shadow  of  an  insect's  wing, 
For  which  the  violet  cared  not  while  it  stayed. 
Yet  felt  the  lighter  for  its  vanishing, 
Proved  that  the  sun  was  shining  by  its  shade. 
Then  can  a  drop  of  the  eternal  spring, 
Shadow  of  living  lights,  in  vain  be  made  ? 

Hartley  Coleridgr 


ALL   APPOINTED. 

^  I  ^HOU  camest  not  to  thy  place  by  accident, 

-*-    It  is  the  very  place  God  meant  for  thee  ; 
And  shouldst  thou  there  small  scope  for  action  see. 
Do  not  for  this  give  room  to  discontent ; 
Nor  let  the  time  thou  owest  to  God  be  spent 
In  idly  dreaming  how  thou  mightest  be 
In  what  concerns  thy  spiritual  life,  more  free 
From  outward  hindrance  or  impediment: 


92  QUIET  HOURS. 

For  presently  this  hindrance  thou  shalt  find 
That  without  which  all  goodness  were  a  task 
So  slight,  that  Virtue  never  could  grow  strong  : 
And  wouldst  thou  do  one  duty  to  His  mind, 
The  Imposer's  — over-burdened  thou  shalt  ask, 
And  own  thy  need  of  grace  to  help,  ere  long. 

Richard  Chenevix  Trench. 


T  TOW  soon  hath  Time,  the  subtle  thief  of  youth, 

-^  ^  Stolen  on  his  wing  my  three-and-twentieth  year ! 

My  hasting  days  fly  on  with  full  career. 

But  my  late  spring  no  bud  or  blossom  shew'th. 

Perhaps  my  semblance  might  deceive  the  truth 

That  I  to  manhood  am  arrived  so  near ; 

And  inward  ripeness  doth  much  less  appear, 

Than  some  more  timely-happy  spirits  indu'th. 

Yet  be  it  less  or  more,  or  soon  or  slow, 

It  shall  be  still  in  strictest  measure  even, 

To  that  same  lot,  however  mean  or  high, 

Toward  which  Time  leads  me,  and  the  will  of  Heaven  ; 

All  is,  if  I  have  grace  to  use  it  so, 

As  ever  in  my  great  task-Master's  eye. 

John  Milton. 

TO    MR.    CYRIACK   SKINNER. 

/^^YRIACK,  this  three-years-day  these  eyes,  though 

^-^  clear, 

To  outward  view,  of  blemish  or  of  spot, 

Bereft  of  light,  their  seeing  have  forgot ; 

Nor  to  their  idle  orbs  doth  sight  appear 


LIFE  AND   DUTY.  93 

Of  sun,  or  moon,  or  star,  throughout  the  year, 

Or  man,  or  woman.     Yet  I  argue  not 

Against  Heaven's  hand  or  will,  nor  bate  a  jot 

Of  heart  or  hope,  but  still  bear  up  and  steer 

Right  onward.     What  supports  me,  dost  thou  ask  ? 

The  conscience,  friend,  to  have  lost  them  overplied 

In  Liberty's  defence,  my  noble  task, 

Of  which  all  Europe  rings  from  side  to  side. 

This  thought  might  lead  me  through  the  world's  vain 

mask. 
Content,  though  blind,  had  I  no  better  guide. 

John  Milton. 


MILTON  !  thou  shouldst  be  living  at  this  hour  : 
England  hath  need  of  thee  ;  she  is  a  fen 
Of  stagnant  waters  ;  altar,  sword,  and  pen. 
Fireside,  the  heroic  wealth  of  hall  and  bower, 
Have  forfeited  their  ancient  English  dower 
Of  inward  happiness.     We  are  selfish  men  ; 
Oh  !  raise  us  up,  return  to  us  again  ; 
And  give  us  manners,  virtue,  freedom,  power. 
Thy  soul  was  like  a  star,  and  dwelt  apart  ; 
Thou  hadst  a  voice  whose  sound  was  like  the  sea : 
Pure  as  the  naked  heavens,  majestic,  free, 
So  didst  thou  travel  on  life's  common  way, 
In  cheerful  godliness  ;  and  yet  thy  heart 
The  lowliest  duties  on  herself  did  lay. 

William  Wordsworth,  1802. 


94  QUIET  HOURS. 


CHARACTER   OF  THE   HAPPY   WARRIOR. 

TT  7H0  is  the  happy  warrior  ?     Who  is  he 
^  ^     That  every  man  in  arms  should  wish  to  be  ? 

—  It  is  the  generous  spirit  who,  when  brought 
Among  the  tasks  of  real  life,  hath  wrought 
Upon  the  plan  that  pleased  his  childish  thought ; 
Whose  high  endeavors  are  an  inward  light 
That  makes  the  path  before  him  always  bright ; 
Who,  with  a  natural  instinct  to  discern 

What  knowledge  can  perform,  is  diligent  to  learn ; 
Abides  by  this  resolve,  and  stops  not  there. 
But  makes  his  moral  being  his  prime  care  ; 
Who,  doomed  to  go  in  company  with  pain 
And  fear  and  bloodshed  —  miserable  train  !  — 
Turns  his  necessity  to  glorious  gain  ; 
In  face  of  these  doth  exercise  a  power 
Which  is  our  human  nature's  highest  dower : 
Controls  them  and  subdues,  transmutes,  bereaves 
Of  their  bad  influence,  and  their  good  receives  ; 
By  objects  which  might  force  the  soul  to  abate 
Her  feeling  rendered  more  compassionate  ; 
Is  placable,  because  occasions  rise 
So  often  that  demand  such  sacrifice  ; 
More  skilful  in  self-knowledge,  even  more  pure, 
As  tempted  more  ;  more  able  to  endure 
As  more  exposed  to  suffering  and  distress  ; 
Thence,  also,  more  alive  to  tenderness. 

—  'Tis  he  whose  law  is  reason  ;  who  depends 
Upon  that  law  as  on  the  best  of  friends  ; 


LIFE  AXD  DUTY.  Q5 

Whence,  in  a  state  where  men  are  tempted  still 

To  evil  for  a  guard  against  worse  ill, 

And  what  in  quality  or  act  is  best 

Doth  seldom  on  a  right  foundation  rest, 

He  fixes  good  on  good  alone,  and  owes 

To  virtue  every  triumph  that  he  knows  : 

—  Who,  if  he  rise  to  station  of  command, 
Rises  by  open  means,  and  there  will  stand 
On  honorable  terms,  or  else  retire, 

And  in  himself  possess  his  own  desire  ; 

Who  comprehends  his  trust,  and  to  the  same 

Keeps  faithful  with  a  singleness  of  aim ; 

And  therefore  does  not  stoop,  nor  lie  in  wait 

For  wealth  or  honors,  or  for  worldly  state  ; 

Whom  they  must  follow ;  on  whose  head  must  fall, 

Like  showers  of  manna,  if  they  come  at  all  ; 

Whose  powers  shed  round  him,  in  the  common  strife 

Or  mild  concerns  of  ordinary  Hfe, 

A  constant  influence,  a  peculiar  grace  ; 

But  who,  if  he  be  called  upon  to  face 

Some  awful  moment  to  which  Heaven  has  joined 

Great  issues,  good  or  bad  for  humankind, 

Is  happy  as  a  lover;  and  attired 

With  sudden  brightness,  like  a  man  inspired; 

And  through  the  heat  of  conflict  keeps  the  law 

In  calmness  made,  and  sees  what  he  foresaw  ; 

Or  if  an  unexpected  call  succeed, 

Come  when  it  will,  is  equal  to  the  need  : 

—  He  who,  though  thus  endued  as  with  a  sense 
And  faculty  for  storm  and  turbulence, 


96 


QUIET  HOURS. 


Is  yet  a  soul  whose  master-bias  leans 

To  home-felt  pleasures  and  to  gentle  scenes  — 

Sweet  images  !  which,  wheresoe'er  he  be, 

Are  at  his  heart,  and  such  fidelity 

It  is  his  darling  passion  to  approve ; 

]\Iore  brave  for  this,  that  he  hath  much  to  love  : 

'T  is,  finally,  the  man  who,  lifted  high. 

Conspicuous  object  in  a  nation's  eye, 

Or  left  unthought  of  in  obscurity  ; 

Who,  with  a  toward  or  untoward  lot, 

Prosperous  or  adverse,  to  his  wish  or  not. 

Plays,  in  the  many  games  of  life,  that  one 

Where  what  he  most  doth  value  must  be  won ; 

Whom  neither  shape  of  danger  can  dismay 

Nor  thought  of  tender  happiness  betray  ; 

Who,  not  content  that  former  worth  stand  fast. 

Looks  forward,  persevering  to  the  last. 

From  well  to  better,  daily  self-surpast : 

Who,  whether  praise  of  him  must  walk  the  earth 

Forever  and  to  noble  deeds  give  birth, 

Or  he  must  go  to  dust  without  his  fame 

And  leave  a  dead  unprofitable  name. 

Finds  comfort  in  himself  and  in  his  cause  ; 

And,  while  the  mortal  mist  is  gathering,  draws 

His  breath  in  confidence  of  Heaven's  applause  : 

This  is  the  happy  warrior;  this  is  he 

Whom  every  man  in  arms  should  wish  to  be. 

William  Wordsworth,  1S06.J 


LIFE  AND  DUTY,  97 

RUGBY   CHAPEL. 

November,   1857. 

/^^OLDLY,  sadly  descends 

^^   The  autumn  evening.     The  Field 

Strewn  with  its  dank  yellow  drifts 

Of  wither'd  leaves,  and  the  elms, 

Fade  into  dimness  apace, 

Silent  :  — hardly  a  shout 

From  a  few  boys  late  at  their  play  ! 

The  lights  come  out  in  the  street. 

In  the  school-room  windows  —  but  cold, 

Solemn,  unlighted,  austere, 

Through  the  gathering  darkness,  arise 

The  Chapel  walls,  in  whose  bound 

Thou,  my  father!  art  laid. 

There  thou  dost  lie,  in  the  gloom 
Of  the  autumn  evening.     But  ah  ! 
That  word,  gloom^  to  my  mind 
Brings  thee  back  in  the  light 
Of  thy  radiant  vigor  again  ! 
In  the  gloom  of  November  we  pass'd 
Days  not  of  gloom  at  thy  side  ; 
Seasons  impaired  not  the  ray 
Of  thy  buoyant  cheerfulness  clear. 
Such  thou  wast!  and  I  stand 
In  the  autumn  evening,  and  think 
Of  by-gone  autumns  with  thee. 
7 


98  QUIET  HOURS. 

Fifteen  years  have  gone  round 
Since  thou  arosest  to  tread, 
In  the  summer  morning,  the  road 
Of  death,  at  a  call  unforeseen, 
Sudden.     For  fifteen  years. 
We  who  till  then  in  thy  shade 
Rested  as  under  the  boughs 
Of  a  mighty  oak,  have  endured 
Sunshine  and  rain  as  we  might, 
Bare,  unshaded,  alone, 
Lacking  the  shelter  of  thee. 

O  strong  soul,  by  what  shore 
Tarriest  thou  now  ?     For  that  force, 
Surely,  has  not  been  left  vain  ! 
Somewhere,  surely,  afar. 
In  the  sounding  labor-house  vast 
Of  being,  is  practised  that  strength, 
Zealous,  beneficent,  firm ! 


Yes,  in  some  far-shining  sphere, 

Conscious  or  not  of  the  past. 

Still  thou  performest  the  word 

Of  the  Spirit  in  whom  thou  dost  live- 

Prompt,  unwearied,  as  here  ! 

Still  thou  upraisest  with  zeal 

The  humble  good  from  the  ground, 

Sternly  repressest  the  bad  ! 

Still,  like  a  trumpet,  dost  rouse 

Those  who  with  half-open  eyes 


LIFE  AXD  DUTY.  99 

Tread  the  border-land  dim 
'Twixt  vice  and  virtue;  reviv'st, 
Succorest!  —  this  was  thy  work, 
This  was  thy  life  upon  earth. 

What  is  the  course  of  the  life 

Of  mortal  men  on  the  earth  ?  — 

Most  men  eddy  about 

Here  and  there  —  eat  and  drink, 

Chatter  and  love  and  hate, 

Gather  and  squander,  are  raised 

Aloft,  are  hurl'd  in  the  dust. 

Striving  blindly,  achieving 

Nothing  ;  and  then  they  die  — 

Perish  —  and  no  one  asks 

Who  or  what  they  have  been, 

More  than  he  asks  what  waves. 

In  the  moonlit  solitudes  mild 

Of  the  midmost  Ocean,  have  swell'd, 

Foam'd  for  a  moment,  and  gone. 

And  there  are  some  whom  a  thirst 
Ardent,  unquenchable,  fires, 
Not  with  the  crowd  to  be  spent, 
Not  without  aim  to  go  round 
In  an  eddy  of  purposeless  dust, 
Effort  unmeaning  and  vain. 
Ah  yes  !  some  of  us  strive 
Not  without  action  to  die 
Fruitless,  but  something  to  snatch 
From  dull  oblivion,  nor  all 


TOO 


QUIET  HOURS. 


Glut  the  devouring  grave  ! 

We,  we  have  chosen  our  path  — 

Path  to  a  clear-purposed  goal, 

Path  of  advance  T —  but  it  leads 

A  long,  steep  journey,  through  sunk 

Gorges,  o'er  mountains  in  snow  ! 

Cheerful,  with  friends,  we  set  forth  ; 

Then,  on  the  height,  comes  the  storm  ! 

Thunder  crashes  from  rock 

To  rock,  the  cataracts  reply ; 

Lightnings  dazzle  our  eyes  ; 

Roaring  torrents  have  breach'd 

The  track,  the  stream-bed  descends 

In  the  place  where  the  wayfarer  once 

Planted  his  footstep  —  the  spray 

Boils  o'er  its  borders  !  aloft 

The  unseen  snow-beds  dislodge 

Their  hanging  ruin  !  —  alas. 

Havoc  is  made  in  our  train  ! 

Friends,  who  set  forth  at  our  side, 

Falter,  are  lost  in  the  storm. 

We,  we  only  are  left !  — 

With  frowning  foreheads,  with  lips 

Sternly  compress'd,  we  strain  on, 

On  —  and  at  nightfall  at  last 

Come  to  the  end  of  our  way, 

To  the  lonely  inn  'mid  the  rocks  ; 

Where  the  gaunt  and  taciturn  Host 

Stands  on  the  threshold,  the  wind 

Shakino;  his  thin  white  hairs  — 


LIFE  AND  DUTY.  loi 

Holds  his  lantern  to  scan 
Our  storm-beat  figures,  and  asks, 
Whom  in  our  party  we  bring? 
Whom  we  have  left  in  the  snow  ? 

Sadly  w^e  answer:    We  bring 
Only  ourselves  !  we  lost 
Sight  of  the  rest  in  the  storm. 
Hardly  ourselves  we  fought  through, 
Stripp'd,  without  friends,  as  we  are. 
Friends,  companions,  and  train, 
The  avalanche  swept  from  our  side. 

But  thou  would'st  not  alone 
Be  saved,  my  father !  alofie 
Conquer  and  come  to  thy  goal, 
Leaving  the  rest  in  the  wild. 
We  were  weary,  and  w^e 
Fearful,  and  we  in  our  march 
Fain  to  drop  down  and  to  die. 
Still  thou  turnedst,  and  still 
Beckonedst  the  trembler,  and  still 
Gavest  the  weary  thy  hand  ! 
If,  in  the  paths  of  the  world, 
Stones  might  have  wounded  thy  feet, 
Toil  or  dejection  have  tried 
Thy  spirit,  of  that  we  saw 
Nothing  —  to  us  thou  wast  still 
Cheerful,  and  helpful,  and  firm  ! 
Therefore  to  thee  it  was  given 
Many  to  save  with  thyself; 


T02  QUIET  HOURS. 

And,  at  the  end  of  thy  day, 

O  faithful  shepherd  !  to  come, 

Bringing  thy  sheep  in  thy  hand. 

And  through  thee  I  beheve 

In  the  noble  and  great  who  are  gone  ; 

Pure  souls  honor'd  and  blest 

By  former  ages,  who  else  — 

Such,  so  soulless,  so  poor. 

Is  the  race  of  men  whom  I  see  — 

Seem'd  but  a  dream  of  the  heart, 

Seem'd  but  a  cry  of  desire. 

Yes  !   I  believe  that  there  lived 

Others  like  thee  in  the  past, 

Not  like  the  men  of  the  crowd 

Who  all  round  me  to-day 

Bluster  or  cringe,  and  make  life 

Hideous,  and  arid,  and  vile  ; 

But  souls  temper'd  with  fire. 

Fervent,  heroic,  and  good, 

Helpers  and  friends  of  mankind. 

Servants  of  God !  —  or  sons 
Shall  I  not  call  you  ?  because 
Not  as  servants  ye  knew 
Your  Father's  innermost  mind. 
His,  who  unwillingly  sees 
One  of  his  Httle  ones  lost  — 
Yours  is  the  praise,  if  mankind 
Hath  not  as  yet  in  its  march 
Fainted,  and  fallen,  and  died ! 


LIFE  AND  DUTY,  103 

See  !     In  the  rocks  of  the  world 

Marches  the  host  of  mankind, 

A  feeble,  wavering  line. 

Where  are  they  tending  ?  —  A  God 

Marshaird  them,  gave  them  their  goal.  — 

Ah,  but  the  way  is  so  long  ! 

Years  they  have  been  in  the  wild  ! 

Sore  thirst  plagues  them,  the  rocks, 

Rising  all  round,  overawe  ; 

Factions  divide  them,  their  host 

Threatens  to  break,  to  dissolve. — 

Ah,  keep,  keep  them  combined  ! 

Else,  of  the  myriads  who  fill 

That  army,  not  one  shall  arrive; 

Sole  they  shall  stray  ;   in  the  rocks 

Labor  forever  in  vain. 

Die  one  by  one  in  the  w^aste. 

Then,  in  such  hour  of  need 

Of  your  fainting,  dispirited  race. 

Ye,  like  angels,  appear. 

Radiant  with  ardor  divine. 

Beacons  of  hope,  ye  appear  ! 

Languor  is  not  in  your  heart, 

Weakness  is  not  in  your  word, 

Weariness  not  on  your  brow. 

Ye  alight  in  our  van  !  at  your  voice, 

Panic,  despair,  flee  away. 

Ye  move  through  the  ranks,  recall 

The  stragglers,  refresh  the  outworn, 

Praise,  reinspire  the  brave. 


104 


QUIET  HOURS. 


Order,  courage,  return ; 
Eyes  rekindling,  and  prayers, 
Follow  your  steps  as  ye  go. 
Ye  fill  up  the  gaps  in  our  files, 
Strengthen  the  wavering  line, 
Stablish,  continue  our  march, 
On,  to  the  bound  of  the  waste, 
On,  to  the  City  of  God. 


Matthew  Arnold. 


PRAYER   AND   ASPIRATION. 


BE    NOT   AFRAID    TO    PRAY. 

TI>  E  not  afraid  to  pray  —  to  pray  is  right. 

^^  Pray,  if  thou  canst,  with  hope  ;  but  ever  pray, 

Though  hope  be  weak,  or  sick  with  long  delay : 

Pray  in  the  darkness,  if  there  be  no  light. 

Far  is  the  time,  remote  from  human  sight, 

When  war  and  discord  on  the  earth  shall  cease  ; 

Yet  every  prayer  for  universal  peace 

Avails  the  blessed  time  to  expedite. 

Whate'er  is  good  to  wish,  ask  that  of  Heaven, 

Though  it  be  what  thou  canst  not  hope  to  see : 

Pray  to  be  perfect,  though  material  leaven 

Forbid  the  spirit  so  on  earth  to  be  ; 

But  if  for  any  wish  thou  darest  not  pray. 

Then  pray  to  God  to  cast  that  wish  away. 

Hartley  Coleridge. 

PRAYING   IN    SPIRIT. 

*'  But  thou,  when  thou  praj^est,  enter  into  thy  closet,  and  when  thou  hast 
shut  thy  door,  pray  to  thy  Father  which  is  in  secret."     St.  Matt,  vi   6. 

T   NEED  not  leave  the  jostling  world, 
-■-     Or  wait  till  daily  tasks  are  o'er. 
To  fold  my  palms  in  secret  prayer 
Within  the  close-shut  closet  door. 


lo6  QUIET  HOURS. 

There  is  a  viewless,  cloistered  room, 

As  high  as  heaven,  as  fair  as  day. 
Where,  though  my  feet  may  join  the  throng, 

My  soul  can  enter  in  and  pray. 

When  I  have  banished  wayward  thoughts, 

Of  sinful  works  the  fruitful  seed, 
When  folly  wins  my  ear  no  more, 

The  closet  door  is  shut  indeed. 

No  human  step,  approaching,  breaks 

The  bhssful  silence  of  the  place  ; 
No  shadow  steals  across  the  light 

That  falls  from  my  Redeemer's  face  ! 

And  never  through  those  crystal  walls 
The  clash  of  life  can  pierce  its  way. 

Nor  ever  can  a  human  ear 

Drink  in  the  spirit-words  I  say. 

One  hearkening,  even,  cannot  know 

When  I  have  crossed  the  threshold  o'er, 

For  He,  alone,  who  hears  my  prayer. 
Has  heard  the  shutting  of  the  door  ! 

Harriet  McEwen  Kimball. 


HELP    FROM    PRAYER. 

T    ORD,  what  a  change  within  us  one  short  hour 
-*-^     Spent  in  Thy  presence  will  prevail  to  make. 
What  heavy  burdens  from  our  bosoms  take. 
What  parched  grounds  refresh,  as  with  a  shower  ! 


PRAYER    AND  ASPIRATION.  107 

We  kneel,  and  all  around  us  seems  to  lower; 
We  rise,  and  all,  the  distant  and  the  near, 
Stands  forth  in  sunny  outline,  brave  and  clear; 
We  kneel  how  weak,  we  rise  how  full  of  power. 
Why  therefore  should  we  do  ourselves  this  wrong, 
Or  others  —  that  we  are  not  always  strong, 
That  we  are  ever  overborne  with  care, 
That  we  should  ever  weak  or  heartless  be. 
Anxious  or  troubled,  when  with  us  is  prayer, 
And  joy  and  strength  and  courage  are  with  Thee. 

Richard  Chexevix  Trench. 


LEAVE   THYSELF    TO    GOD. 

r^  LEAVE  thyself  to  God  !  and  if  indeed 

^^  'T  is  given  thee  to  perform  so  vast  a  task. 

TJiiiik  not  at  all,  — think  not,  but  kneel  and  ask  ! 

O  friend  !  by  thought  was  never  creature  freed 

From  any  sin,  from  any  mortal  need  ; 

Be  patient !  not  by  thought  canst  thou  devise 

What  course  of  life  for  thee  is  right  and  wise; 

It  will  be  wTitten  up,  and  thou  wilt  read. 

Oft  like  a  sudden  pencil  of  rich  light, 

Piercing  the  thickest  umbrage  of  the  wood, 

Will  shoot,  amidst  our  troubles  infinite, 

The  Spirit's  voice  ;  oft,  like  the  balmy  flood 

Of  morn,  surprise  the  universal  night 

With  glory,  and  make  all  things  sweet  and  good ! 

Thomas  Bukbidgk. 


io8  QUIET  HOURS. 

FROM  "THE  FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER 
EASTER." 

npHEN,  fainting  soul,  arise  and  sing: 
-*"       Mount,  but  be  sober  on  the  wing; 
Mount  up,  for  heaven  is  won  by  prayer, 
Be  sober,  for  thou  art  not  there  ; 
Till  Death  the  weary  spirit  free, 
Thy  God  hath  said,  'T  is  good  for  thee 
To  walk  by  faith  and  not  by  sight : 

Take  it  on  trust  a  little  while  ; 
Soon  shalt  thou  read  the  mystery  right 

In  the  full  sunshine  of  His  smile. 

John  Keble. 

A    PRAYER. 

r\  BROODING  Spirit  of  \Yisdom  and  of  Love, 

^-^     Whose  mighty  wings  even  now  overshadow  me, 

Absorb  me  in  Thine  own  immensity. 

And  raise  me  far  my  finite  self  above  ! 

Purge  vanity  away,  and  the  weak  care 

That  name  or  fame  of  me  may  widely  spread  ; 

And  the  deep  wish  keep  burning  in  their  stead. 

Thy  blissful  influence  afar  to  bear,  — 

Or  see  it  borne  I   Let  no  desire  of  ease, 

No  lack  of  courage,  faith,  or  love  delay 

Mine  own  steps  on  that  high  though t-paven  way 

In  which  my  soul  her  clear  commission  sees  : 

Yet  with  an  equal  joy  let  me  behold 

Thy  chariot  o'er  that  way  by  others  rolled  ! 

Sir  William  Rowan  Hamilton. 


PRAYER  AND  ASPIRATION.  109 


A    PRAYER. 

IMITATED    FROM    THE    PERSIAN. 

T    ORD  !  who  art  merciful  as  well  as  just, 
-■--'    Incline  thine  ear  to  me,  a  child  of  dust! 
Not  what  I  would,  O  Lord !  I  offer  Thee, 
Alas  !  but  what  I  can. 
Father  Almighty,  who  hast  made  me  man, 
And  bade  me  look  to  heaven,  for  Thou  art  there, 

Accept  my  sacrifice  and  humble  prayer. 
Four  things  which  are  not  in  Thy  treasury, 
I  lay  before  Thee,  Lord,  with  this  petition  : 
My  nothingness,  my  wants. 
My  sins,  and  my  contrition. 

Robert  Southey. 


DRYNESS    IN   PRAYER. 

OFOR  the  happy  days  gone  by. 
When  love  ran  smooth  and  free, 
Days  when  my  spirit  so  enjoyed 
More  than  earth's  liberty  ! 

O  for  the  times  when  on  my  heart 
Long  prayer  had  never  palled, 

Times  when  the  ready  thought  of  God 
Would  come  when  it  was  called ! 


>  QUIET  HOURS, 

Then  when  I  knelt  to  meditate, 
Sweet  thoughts  came  o'er  my  soul, 

Countless  and  bright  and  beautiful, 
Beyond  my  own  control. 

O  who  hath  locked  these  fountains  up  ? 

Those  visions  who  hath  stayed  ? 
What  sudden  act  hath  thus  transformed 

My  sunshine  into  shade  ? 

This  freezing  heart,  O  Lord  !  this  will 

Dry  as  the  desert  sand, 
Good  thoughts  that  will  not  come,  bad  thoughts 

That  come  without  command,  — 

If  this  drear  change  be  Thine,  O  Lord  ! 

If  it  be  Thy  sweet  will. 
Spare  not,  but  to  the  very  brim 

The  bitter  chalice  fill. 

But  if  it  hath  been  sin  of  mine, 

0  show  that  sin  to  me, 

Not  to  get  back  the  sweetness  lost, 
But  to  make  peace  with  Thee. 

One  thing  alone,  dear  Lord  !  I  dread  ;  — 

To  have  a  secret  spot 
That  separates  my  soul  from  Thee, 

And  yet  to  know  it  not. 

0  when  the  tide  of  graces  set 
So  full  upon  my  heart, 

1  know,  dear  Lord,  how  faithlessly 

1  did  my  little  part. 


PRAYER  AND   ASPIRATION',  Hi 

But  if  this  weariness  hath  come 

A  present  from  on  high, 
Teach  me  to  find  the  hidden  wealth 

That  in  its  depths  may  He. 

So  in  this  darkness  I  can  learn 

To  tremble  and  adore, 
To  sound  my  own  vile  nothingness, 

And  thus  to  love  Thee  more,  — 

To  love  Thee,  and  yet  not  to  think 

That  I  can  love  so  much,  — 
To  have  Thee  with  me.  Lord,  all  day, 

Yet  not  to  feel  Thy  touch. 

If  I  have  served  Thee,  Lord,  for  hire, 

Hire  which  Thy  beauty  showed, 
Ah  !   I  can  serve  Thee  now  for  naught, 

And  only  as  my  God. 

O  blessed  be  this  darkness  then. 

This  deep  in  which  I  lie. 
And  blessed  be  all  things  that  teach 

God's  great  supremacy. 

Frederick  William  Faber. 


DISTRACTIONS    IN    PRAYER. 

A  H  !  dearest  Lord  !   I  cannot  pray, 

^    My  fancy  is  not  free  : 
Unmannerly  distractions  come. 
And  force  my  thoughts  from  Thee. 


112  QUIET  HOURS. 

The  world  that  looks  so  dull  all  day 
Glows  bright  on  me  at  prayer, 

And  plans  that  ask  no  thought  but  then 
Wake  up  and  meet  me  there. 

All  nature  one  full  fountain  seems 

Of  dreamy  sight  and  sound, 
Which,  when  I  kneel,  breaks  up  its  deeps, 

And  makes  a  deluge  round. 

Old  voices  murmur  in  my  ear. 

New  hopes  start  into  life. 
And  past  and  future  gayly  blend 

In  one  bewitching  strife. 

My  very  flesh  has  restless  fits  ; 

My  changeful  limbs  conspire 
With  all  these  phantoms  of  the  mind 

My  inner  self  to  tire. 

I  cannot  pray ;  yet.  Lord,  Thou  knowest 

The  pain  it  is  to  me 
To  have  my  vainly-struggling  thoughts 

Thus  torn  away  from  Thee. 

O  Father  !  teach  me  how  to  prize 
These  tedious  hours,  when  I, 

Foolish  and  mute,  before  Thy  face, 
In  helpless  worship  lie. 

Yet  Thou  art  oft  most  present,  Lord, 

In  weak  distracted  prayer  ; 
A  sinner  out  of  heart  with  self 

Most  often  finds  Thee  there. 


I 


ft 


PRA  YER  AND  ASPIRA  TION,  1 13 

And  prayer  that  humbles,  sets  the  soul 

From  all  illusions  free, 
And  teaches  it  how  utterly 

Dear  Lord  !  it  hangs  on  Thee. 

0  Father  !  why  should  I  complain, 
And  why  fear  ai^ght  but  sin  ? 

Distractions  are  but  outward  things  ; 
Thy  peace  dwells  far  within. 

These  surface-troubles  come  and  go, 

Like  rufflings  of  the  sea  ; 
The  deeper  depth  is  out  of  reach 

To  all,  my  God,  but  Thee  ! 

Frederick  William  Fabkr. 

SWEETNESS    IN    PRAYER. 

TT  7HY  dost  thou  beat  so  quick,  my  heart  .^ 

^  ^       Why  struggle  in  thy  cage  .^ 

What  shall  I  do  for  thee,  poor  heart. 

Thy  throbbing  heat  to  assuage  ? 

What  spell  is  this  come  over  thee  ? 

My  soul  !  what  sweet  surprise  ? 
And  wherefore  these  unbidden  tears 

That  start  into  mine  eyes  ? 

Thy  sweetness  hath  betrayed  Thee,  Lord  ! 

Dear  Spirit  !  it  is  Thou  ; 
Deeper  and  deeper  in  my  heart 

1  feel  Thee  nestlinir  now. 


114  QUIET  HOURS. 

Thy  home  is  with  the  humble,  Lord ! 

The  simple  are  Thy  rest  ; 
Thy  lodging  is  in  childlike  hearts  ; 

Thou  makest  there  Thy  nest. 

Dear  Comforter  !  Eternal  Love  ! 

If  Thou  wilt  stay  with  me, 
Of  lowly  thoughts  and  simple  ways 

I  '11  build  a  nest  for  Thee. 

Who  made  this  beating  heart  of  mine, 
But  Thou,  my  heavenly  Guest  ? 

Let  no  one  have  it  then  but  Thee, 
And  let  it  be  Thy  nest. 


Frederick  William  Fabersj 


MY    PRAYER. 

/^NE  gift,  my  God,  I  seek, 
^-^     To  know  Thee  always  near  ; 
To  feel  Thy  hand,  to  see  Thy  face, 
Thy  blessed  voice  to  hear. 

Where'er  I  go,  my  God, 

O  let  me  find  Thee  there  : 
Where'er  I  stay,  stay  Thou  with  me, 

A  presence  everywhere. 

And  if  Thou  bringest  peace. 

Or  if  Thou  bringest  pain, 
But  come  Thyself  with  all  that  comes,  4 

And  all  shall  0:0  for  2:ain. 


i 


I 


PRAYER  AND  ASPIRATION. 

To  walk  with  Thee,  my  God, 

O  blessed,  blessed  grace  ; 
My  homely  features,  Lord,  shall  shine 

For  looking  in  Thy  face. 

Long  listening  to  Thy  words, 
My  voice  shall  catch  Thy  tone, 

And  locked  in  Thine,  my  hand  shall  grow 
All  lovino^  like  Thine  own. 


115 


B.  T. 


ALONE    WITH    GOD. 

ALONE  with  Thee,  my  God  !  alone  with  Thee  ! 
Thus  wouldst  Thou  have  it  still  —  thus  let  it  be  ; 
There  is  a  secret  chamber  in  each  mind, 

Which  none  can  find 
But  He  who  made  it  —  none  beside  can  know 

Its  joy  or  woe. 
Oft  may  I  enter  it,  oppressed  by  care, 

And  find  Thee  there  ; 
So  full  of  watchful  love.  Thou  know'st  the  why 

Of  every  sigh. 
Then  all  thy  righteous  dealings  shall  I  see, 
Alone  with  Thee,  my  God  !  alone  with  Thee. 

The  joys  of  earth  are  like  a  summer's  day, 

Fading  away  ; 
But  in  the  twilight  we  may  better  trace 

Thy  wondrous  o-race. 


Ti6  QUIET  HOURS. 

The  homes  of  earth  are  emptied  oft  by  death 

With  chilling  breath  ; 
The  loved  departed  guest  may  ope  no  more 

The  well-known  door  ; 
Still  in  that  chamber  sealed  Thou  'It  dwell  with  me, 
And  I  with  Thee,  my  God !  alone  with  Thee. 

The  world's  false  voice  w^ould  bid  me  enter  not 

That  hallowed  spot ; 
And  earthly  thoughts  w^ould  follow  on  the  track 

To  hold  me  back, 
Or  seek  to  break  the  sacred  peace  within 

With  this  world's  din. 
But,  by  Thy  grace,  I  '11  cast  them  all  aside, 

Whatever  betide  ; 
And  never  let  that  cell  deserted  be, 
Where  I  may  dwell  alone,  my  God,  with  Thee. 

The  war  may  rage  !  —  keep  thou  the  citadel, 

And  all  is  well. 
And  when  I  learn  the  fulness  of  Thy  love 

With  Thee  above  — 
When  every  heart  oppressed  by  hidden  grief 

Shall  gain  relief  — 
Wlien  every  weary  soul  shall  find  its  rest 

Amidst  the  blest  — 
Then  all  my  heart,  from  sin  and  sorrow  free. 
Shall  be  a  temple  meet,  my  God,  for  Thee. 

Littell's  Living  Age. 


PRAYER   AND   ASPIRATION.  I17 

TT^ATHER  !  replenish  with  Thy  grace 
-■■        This  longing  heart  of  mine, 
Make  it  Thy  quiet  dwelling-place, 

Thy  sacred  inmost  shrine  ! 
Forgive  that  oft  my  spirit  wears 

Her  time  and  strength  in  trivial  cares, 
Enfold  her  in  Thy  changeless  peace, 

So  she  from  all  but  Thee  may  cease  ! 

AxGELUS    SiLESIUS,    1657. 

HYMN    AND    PRAYER. 

TN FINITE  Spirit !  who  art  round  us  ever, 
-*-      In  whom  we  float,  as  motes  in  summer  sky, 
May  neither  life  nor  death  the  sweet  bond  sever. 
Which  joins  us  to  our  unseen  Friend  on  high. 

Unseen,  —  yet  not  unfelt,  —  if  any  thought 

Has  raised  our  mind  from  earth,  —  or  pure  desire, 

A  generous  act,  or  noble  purpose  brought. 
It  is  Thy  breath,  O  Lord,  which  fans  the  fire. 

To  me,  the  meanest  of  Thy  creatures,  kneeling, 
Conscious  of  weakness,  ignorance,  sin,  and  shame, 

Give  such  a  force  of  holy  thought  and  feeling 
That  I  may  live  to  glorify  Thy  name ; 

That  I  may  conquer  base  desire  and  passion, 
That  I  may  rise  o'er  selfish  thought  and  will, 

O'ercome  the  world's  allurement,  threat,  and  fashion, 
Walk  humbly,  softly,  leaning  on  Thee  still. 


Il8  QUIET  HOURS. 

I  am  unworthy.  —  Yet  for  their  dear  sake 
I  ask,  whose  roots  planted  in  me  are  found, 

For  precious  vines  are  propped  by  rudest  stake, 
And  heavenly  roses  fed  in  darkest  ground. 

Beneath  my  leaves,  though  early  fallen  and  faded, 
Young  plants  are  warmed,  they  drink  my  branches' 
dew  ; 

Let  them  not,  Lord,  by  me  be  Upas-shaded  ; 
Make  me  for  their  sake  firm,  and  pure,  and  true. 

For  their  sake,  too,  the  faithful,  wise,  and  bold, 
Whose  generous  love  has  been  my  pride  and  stay, 

Those  who  have  found  in  me  some  trace  of  gold. 
For  their  sake  purify  my  lead  and  clay. 

And  let  not  all  the  pains  and  toil  be  wasted. 
Spent  on  my  youth  by  saints  now  gone  to  rest. 

Nor  that  deep  sorrow  my  Redeemer  tasted. 

When  on  His  soul  the  guilt  of  man  was  pressed. 

Tender  and  sensitive,  He  braved  the  storm, 
That  we  might  fly  a  well-deserved  fate. 

Poured  out  His  soul  in  supplication  warm, 
With  eyes  of  love  looked  into  eyes  of  hate. 

Let  all  this  goodness  by  my  mind  be  seen. 
Let  all  this  mercy  on  my  heart  be  sealed  ; 

Lord,  if  Thou  wilt,  Thy  power  can  make  me  clean  ! 
O  speak  the  word,  —  Thy  servant  shall  be  healed  ! 

James  Freeman  Clarke. 


PRAYER  AND  ASPIRATION, 


**  0  let  7iot  the  Lord  be  angry ^  arid  I  will  pray  but 
this  oncey 


TTMPTIED  of  good,  with  many  cares  oppressed, 
^^     Full  oft  I  long  to  cast  them  on  Thy  breast ; 
But  not  that  I  may  lose  them,  Love  Divine, 
O  rather  cravino^  Thou  wouldst  count  them  Thine. 


They  are  not  cares  for  my  poor  wants  nor  loss  ; 
Their  sorrows  —  whom  I  love  —  are  my  worse  cross  : 
Do  as  Thou  wilt  with  me,  all  shall  me  please, 
Only  be  gracious,  Perfect  Love,  to  these 

Whose  souls  I  thus  present  before  Thy  Throne. 
It  is  not  hard  to  trust  Thee  with  mine  own,  — 
But  these  —  they  mourn  for  griefs,  they  may  not  flee, 
And  I  can  tell  them.  Lord,  to  none  but  Thee. 

0  might  I  pray,  "  Do  Thou  as  I  would  do 

For  those  I  love  —  were  my  love  strong  as  true  :  " 
But  who  may  ask  Thee  thus,  though,  long  withstood, 
He  mourneth  after  God  and  after  good  .^ 

"  As  I  would  do."     Ah  !  now  methinks  I  hear 
Thy  comforting,  kind  voice,  my  Lord,  most  dear ; 

1  feel  Thy  grace.  Thy  sweetness  on  me  shine  — 
Poor  as  mv  treasure-store  of  love  to  Thine. 


120  QUIET  HOURS. 

What  wouldst  Thou  have  me  learn  ? — my  trust,  my  all ; 
I  call  down  blessings  —  grief  and  trouble  fall. — 
And  yet  Thy  heavenly  whisper  teacheth  me 
Love  is  of  God,  and  mine  is  born  of  Thee. 

There  is  but  one  love,  and  its  will  is  one ; 
But  Thy  love  seeth  all  things  —  my  love  none. 
Mine  eyes  are  held,  for  so,  and  only  so, 
My  love  would  cast  their  lot,  if  I  might  know. 

Then  take.  Lord,  on  Thyself  my  load  of  care, 
Kind  to  my  fear,  and  gentle  with  my  prayer ; 
With  these  it  shall  be  well,  my  rest  is  one. 
Because  Thou  lovest  them  most  —  Thy  will  be  done. 

Jean  Ingelow. 


THE   GIFT. 

"  Cast  not  away  therefore  your  confidence,  which  hath  great  recom- 
I^ense  of  reward.  For  ye  have  need  of  patience,  that,  after  ye  have  done 
the  will  of  God,  ye  might  receive  the  promise."     Hebrews  x.  35,  36. 

"    A  LL  things  are  yours  I  "     Yea,  Lord,  I  know  it; 
-^  ^     But  oh,  how  cold  my  heart  must  be, 
To  doubt  the  love  that  can  bestow  it, 
And  tarry  still  afar  from  Thee  ! 

I  claim  Thy  gift ;   I  come  to  plead  it; 

Behold,  I  take  Thee  at  Thy  word ; 
Thou  seest  how  much  to-day  I  need  it  — 

Help  for  the  helpless,  gracious  Lord ! 


I 


PRAYER  AND   ASPIRATION.  I2I 

Look  on  my  sick,  my  dumb,  my  dyin^, 
Touch  Thou  my  bhnd  that  they  may  see; 

This  broken  heart,  in  anguish  sighing,  — 
I  bring  them  one  and  all  to  Thee. 

My  heart's  best  treasures,  here  I  give  them. 

To  be  within  Thy  temple  stored  ; 
And  as  life's  landmarks  there  I  leave  them, 

"Because  I  asked  them  of  the  Lord." 

When  love  would  fail  in  fruitless  yearning, 
Thy  golden  censer  wafts  my  prayers ; 

I  see  the  perfumed  incense  burning: 
All  things  are  mine,  all  things  are  theirs. 

I  bring  the  care  sharp  and  oppressing. 
The  way  perplexed,  the  path  untrod  ; 

This  feeble  service  for  Thy  blessing, 
Oh,  crown  it  "  Give?i  thee  of  God  !  " 

I  ask  for  patience,  faith,  and  meekness, 

And  love  divine  that  all  endures  : 
Give  me  Thy  strength  to  meet  my  weakness. 

Since  Thou  hast  said,  ^- All  things  are  yours." 

I  bring  the  sin  my  soul  distressing. 

That  Thou  mayst  cleanse  me  pure  and  white  ; 
The  faint  foreboding  past  expressing, 

But  clear  before  Thy  searching  sight. 


I 


I 


122  QUIET  HOURS. 

Oh,  let  me  feel  Thee  ever  nigh  me  ! 

And  seek  Thy  smile  all  gifts  above  ; 
No  goo^  th'mg  will  Thy  grace  deny  me, 

The  object  of  Thy  changeless  love. 

Thus  shall  I  tread  the  rolling  billow, 
Looking  to  Him  who  hears  it  roar  ; 

Thy  hand  my  guide,  Thy  breast  my  pillow. 
Lord,  let  me  trust,  and  doubt  no  more  ! 

Safe  in  the  bark  Thou  bad'st  me  enter, 
I  '11  triumph  in  Thy  power  divine  ; 

And  on  Thy  word  my  all  I  venture, 

For  T/iou  hast  said,  "All  things  are  mine." 

Anna  Shipton. 


THE    NIGHT    SERVICE. 

"Behold,  bless  ye  the  Lord,  all   ye  servants  of  the  Lord,  which  by 
night  stand  in  the  house  of  the  Lord."      Psalm  cxxxiv.  i. 

Li"" ROM  the  awaking  of  the  glorious  sun 
■*-       In  the  far  chambers  of  the  crystal  east. 
To  where  he  goeth  down  in  pomp  and  power 
Beyond  the  western  seas,  the  name  of  God 
Is  to  be  blessed  and  praised. 

In  morning  hours, 
When  the  sweet  singing  voice  of  birds  is  heard 
On  every  side,  when  mighty  forests  wake 
And  stretch  their  hands  to  God,  when  through  the  earth 
The  breath  of  life  is  blowing,  —  then  the  Saints 
Arise  from  sleep  and  sing. 


PRAYER  AND  ASPIRATION.  1 23 

And  through  the  long  bright  day 
There  is  no  silence,  for  at  every  hour 
Some  soul  is  praising  God. 

But  who  shall  praise  God  in  the  Night  ? 
The  Night,  that  lays  her  finger  on  the  lips 
Of  men,  and  hushes  them  to  something  like 
The  calm  of  Death  ?     Now  sleeps  the  prisoner, 
And  the  oppressor  sleeps ;  the  wicked  cease 
From  troubling,  and  the  weary  are  at  rest. 
Ah,  who  shall  praise  Him  in  the  Night  ?  the  Night, 
That  stretcheth  mournful  wings  from  shore  to  shore, 
Till  silent  lie  the  singers  of  the  world 
Beneath  the  shadow. 

It  is  the  Night: 
And  in  the  Temple  of  the  Lord,  not  made 
By  mortal  hands,  the  lights  are  burning  low 
Before  the  altar.     Clouds  of  darkness  fill 
The  vastness  of  the  sacred  aisles.     The  dumb 
And  breathless  Spirit  of  the  Night  is  here 
In  all  his  power  ;  no  rushing  mighty  wind 
Of  organ-harmonies  is  sweeping  down 
The  shadowy  place.     A  few  short  hours  ago, 
And  all  the  Temple-courts  were  thronged  with  those 
Who  worshipped  and  gave  thanks,  before  they  went 
To  take  their  rest.     Then  many  voices  joined 
To  sing  the  praise  of  God  ;  but  who  shall  bless 
His  name  at  midnight  ? 

Lo  !  a  band  of  pale 
Yet  joyful  priests  do  minister  around 


124  QUIET  HOURS, 

The  altar,  where  the  h'ghts  are  burning  low, 

In  the  breathless  Night.     Each  grave  brow  wears  the 

crown 
Of  sorrow,  and  each  heart  is  kept  awake 
By  its  own  restless  pain,  for  these  are  they 
To  whom  the  night-watch  is  appointed.     See  ! 
They  lift  their  hands,  and  bless  God  in  the  Night ! 
Whilst  we  are  sleeping,  those  to  whom  the  King 
Has  measured  out  a  cup  of  sorrow,  sweet 
With  His  dear  love,  yet  very  hard  to  drink, 
Are  waking  in  His  Temple,  and  the  eyes 
That  cannot  sleep  for  sorrow  or  for  pain 
Are  lifted  up  to  heaven ;  and  sweet  low  songs, 
Broken  by  patient  tears,  arise  to  God. 
Bless  ye  the  Lord,  ye  servants  of  the  Lord, 
Which  stand  by  Night  within  His  Holy  Place 
To  give  Him  worship  !     Ye  are  priests  to  Him, 
And  minister  around  the  altar,  pale 
Yet  joyful  in  the  Night. 

The  priests  must  serve, 
Each  in  his  course,  and  we  must  stand  in  turn 
Awake  with  sorrow,  in  the  Temple  dim. 
To  bless  the  Lord  by  Night.     We  will  not  fear 
When  we  are  called  at  midnight,  by  some  stroke 
Of  sudden  pain,  to  rise  and  minister 
Before  the  Lord.     We.  too,  will  bless  His  name 
In  the  solemn  Night,  and  stretch  our  hands  to  Him. 

Barbara  Macandrew, 


TRUST   AND   ADORATION. 


WITHIN. 


W 


"ITHIN!  within,  O  turn 
Thy  spirit's  eyes,  and  learn 
Thy  wandering  senses  gently  to  control ; 
Thy  dearest  Friend  dwells  deep  within  thy  soul, 

And  asks  thyself  of  thee, 
That  heart,  and  mind,  and  sense,  He  may  make  whole 

In  perfect  harmony. 

Doth  not  thy  inmost  spirit  yield 
And  sink  where  Love  stands  thus  revealed  ? 

Be  still  and  veil  thy  face, 
The  Lord  is  here,  this  is  His  holy  place ! 
Then  back  to  earth,  and  'mid  its  toil  and  throng 
One  glance  within  will  keep  thee  calm  and  strong; 
And  when  the  toil  is  o'er,  how  sweet,  O  God,  to  flee 
Withm,  to  Thee  1 

Gerhard  TERSTEECEJi. 


126  QUIET  HOURS. 


ADORATION. 

T   LOVE  my  God,  but  with  no  love  of  mine, 

■*•      For  I  have  none  to  give  ; 

I  love  Thee,  Lord,  but  all  the  love  is  Thine, 

For  by  Thy  life  I  live. 
I  am  as  nothing,  and  rejoice  to  be 
Emptied,  and  lost,  and  swallowed  up  in  Thee. 

Thou,  Lord,  alone,  art  all  Thy  children  need, 

And  there  is  none  beside  ; 
From  Thee  the  streams  of  blessedness  proceed. 

In  Thee  the  blest  abide,  — 
Fountain  of  life,  and  all-abounding  grace. 
Our  source,  our  centre,  and  our  dwelling-place. 

Madame  Guyon. 


COMMIT  THY  WAY  TO   GOD. 

/^OMMIT  thy  way  to  God, 

^^  The  weight  which  makes  thee  faint  ; 

Worlds  are  to  him  no  load. 

To  Him  breathe  thy  complaint. 
He  who  for  winds  and  clouds 

Maketh  a  pathway  free. 
Through  wastes,  or  hostile  crowds, 

Can  make  a  way  for  thee. 


TRUST  AND  ADORATION.  1^7 

Thou  must  in  Him  be  blest, 

Ere  bliss  can  be  secure  ; 
On  His  work  must  thou  rest, 

If  thy  work  shall  endure. 
To  anxious,  prying  thought, 

And  weary,  fretting  care, 
The  Highest  yieldeth  nought; 

He  giveth  all  to  prayer. 

Father  !  Thy  faithful  love. 

Thy  mercy,  wise  and  mild, 
Sees  what  will  blessing  prove, 

Or  what  will  hurt  Thy  child. 
And  what  Thy  wise  foreseeing, 

Doth  for  Thy  children  choose, 
Thou  bringest  into  being, 

Nor  sufferest  them  to  lose. 

Hope,  then,  though  woes  be  doubled, 

Hope,  and  be  undismayed  ; 
Let  not  thy  heart  be  troubled. 

Nor  let  it  be  afraid. 
This  prison  where  thou  art. 

Thy  God  will  break  it  soon. 
And  flood  with  light  thy  heart 

In  His  own  blessed  noon. 

Up  !  up  !  the  day  is  breaking, 

Say  to  thy  cares,  good-night ! 
Thy  troubles  from  thee  shaking, 

Like  dreams  in  day's  fresh  light. 


128  QUIET  HOURS. 

Thou  wearest  not  the  crown, 

Nor  the  best  course  can  tell ; 
God  sitteth  on  the  throne, 

And  guideth  all  things  well. 

Paul  Gerhardt. 
Translated  by  Elizabeth  Charles. 


I. 

"he  made  the  stars  also.** 

TT  THEN  the  ardent  sun  rides  high, 
^  ^     Then  the  uncorrupt  pure  blue 
Shows  itself  a  worldless  sky ; 
Children,  thus  it  shows  to  you. 

When  the  sun  withdraws  his  light, 
Lo  !  the  stars  of  God  are  there  ; 

Present  hosts  unseen  till  night  — 
Matchless,  countless,  silent,  fair. 

Children,  oft  when  joy  shines  clear 
Lost  is  hold  of  hope  divine  ; 

Then  the  night  of  grief  draws  near, 
And  God's  countless  comforts  shine. 


As  its  darkness  deep  outbars 

All  things  else  they  start  to  view; 

Mercies,  countless  as  the  stars  — 
Matchless,  changeless,  perfect,  true. 


» 


TRUST  AND  ADORATION.  \2\ 

II. 

*' HE    HATH    PUT    THK    WOKLD    IN    THEIR    HEARTS." 

\  S  the  veil  of  broidery  fine 
•^^     P'or  the  temple  wrought  of  old, 
Dropped  before  the  awful  shrine, 
Bloomed  in  purple,  gleamed  in  gold  ; 

So  the  broidered  earth  and  sky, 

Ever  present,  always  near, 
Charm  the  soul  and  fill  the  eye  — 

Marvellous,  matchless,  beauteous,  dear. 

While  the  veil  our  God  hath  wrought 

Hangs  before  the  holy  place, 
It  must  reign  o'er  sight  and  thought, 

Drawn  between  us  and  His  face. 

When  the  veil  is  rent  in  twain 

Shall  the  present  God  appear  ; 
We  shall  see  Him  then  full  fain  — 

Matchless,  changeless,  perfect,  fair. 

Jean  Ingelow. 

THE   RESTING-PLACE   AMID   CHANGES. 

A  LL  things  hang  on  our  possessing 
^  ^  God's  free  love  and  grace  and  blessing, 

Though  all  earthly  wealth  depart ; 
He  who  God  for  his  hath  taken, 
'Mid  the  changing  world  unshaken 
Keeps  a  free  heroic  heart. 
9 


I30  QUIET  HOURS, 

He  who  hitherto  hath  fed  me, 
And  to  many  a  joy  hath  led  me, 

Is  and  ever  shall  be  mine ; 
He  who  did  so  gently  school  me, 
He  who  still  doth  guide  and  rule  me^ 

Will  not  leave  me  now  to  pine. 

Shall  I  weary  me  with  fretting 
O'er  vain  trifles,  and  regretting 

Things  that  never  can  remain  ? 
I  will  strive  but  that  to  win  me 
That  can  shed  true  rest  within  me, 

Rest  the  world  must  seek  in  vam. 

When  my  heart  with  longing  sickens, 
Hope  again  my  courage  quickens. 

For  my  wish  shall  be  fulfilled, 
If  it  please  His  love  most  tender  ; 
Life  and  soul  I  all  surrender 

Unto  Him  on  whom  I  build. 

Well  He  knows  how  best  to  grant  me 
All  the  longing  hopes  that  haunt  me, 

All  things  have  their  proper  day ; 
I  would  dictate  to  Him  never, 
As  God  wills,  so  be  it  ever. 

When  He  wills,  I  will  obey. 

If  on  earth  He  bids  me  linger. 
He  will  guide  me  with  His  finger 

Through  the  years  that  now  look  dim  ; 


TRUST  AND  ADORATION.  131 

All  that  earth  has  fleets  and  changes 
As  a  river  onward  ranges, 
But  I  rest  in  peace  on  Him. 

Anonymous.     In  a  Nuremberg  Hymn-book  of  1676, 


*'  Though  I  take  the  luings  of  the  mo7'nmg.'''* 

O  WEET  are  His  ways  who  rules  above, 
"^     He  gives  from  wrath  a  sheltering  place ; 

But  covert  none  is  found  from  grace, 
Man  shall  not  hide  himself  from  love. 

What  though  I  take  to  me  the  wide 
Wings  of  the  morning,  and  forth  fly. 
Faster  He  goes,  whose  care  on  high 

Shepherds  the  stars  and  doth  them  guide. 

What  though  the  tents  foregone,  I  roam 
Till  day  wax  dim  lamenting  me  ; 
He  wills  that  I  shall  sleep  to  see 

The  great  gold  stairs  to  His  sweet  home. 

What  though  the  press  I  pass  before. 
And  climb  the  branch.  He  lifts  His  face  ; 
I  am  not  secret  from  His  grace 

Lost  in  the  leafy  sycamore. 

What  though  denied  with  murmuring  deep 
I  shame  my  Lord,  —  it  shall  not  be  ; 
For  He  will  turn  and  look  on  me, 

Then  must  I  think  thereon  and  weep. 


132  QUIET  HOURS. 

The  nether  depth,  the  heights  above, 
Nor  alleys  pleached  of  Paradise, 
Nor  Herod's  judgment-halls  suffice  : 

Man  shall  not  hide  himself  from  love. 

Jean  Ingelow. 


"/;/  Hi77i  we  live.,  and  move ^  aitd  have  our  betJig,''^ 

'T^HE  measureless  gulfs  of  air  are  full  of  Thee  : 

-*-       Thou  art,  and  therefore  hang  the  stars  ;  they  wait 
And  swim,  and  shine  in  God  who  bade  them  be, 
And  hold  their  sundering  voids  inviolate. 

A  God  concerned  (veiled  in  pure  light)  to  bless, 
With  sweet  reveahng  of  His  love,  the  soul  ; 

Towards  things  piteous^  full  of  piteousness  ; 

The  Cause,  the  Life,  and  the  continuing  Whole. 

He  is  more  present  to  all  things  He  made 

Than  anything  unto  itself  can  be  ; 
Full-fohaged  boughs  of  Eden  could  not  shade 

Afford,  since  God  was  also  'neath  the  tree. 

Thou  knowest  me  altogether  ;   I  knew  not 
Thy  likeness  till  Thou  madest  it  manifest. 

There  is  no  world  but  is  Thy  heaven  ;  no  spot 
Remote ;  Creation  leans  upon  Thy  breast. 

Thou  art  beyond  all  stars,  yet  in  my  heart 

Wonderful  whisperings  hold  Thy  creature  dumb  ; 

I  need  not  search  afar  ;  to  me  Thou  art 
Father,  Redeemer,  and  Renewer  —  come. 

Jean  Ingelow. 


TRUST  AND   adoration:  133 


THE    FLOWER. 

T  TOW  fresh,  O  Lord,  how  sweet  and  clean 
^  ^  Are  Thy  returns  !  even  as  the  flowers  in  spring ; 
To  which  besides  their  own  demean, 
The  late-past  frosts  tributes  of  pleasure  bring. 

Grief  melts  away 

Like  snow  in  May, 
As  if  there  were  no  such  cold  thing. 

Who  would  have  thought  my  shrivelled  heart 
Could  have  recovered  greenness  ?     It  has  gone 

Quite  under  ground  ;  as  flowers  depart 
To  see  their  mother-root,  when  they  have  blown  ; 
Where  they  together 
All  the  hard  weather, 
Dead  to  the  world,  keep  house  unknown. 

These  are  thy  wonders,  Lord  of  power, 
Killing  and  quickening,  bringing  down  to  hell 

And  up  to  heaven  in  an  hour ; 
Making  a  chiming  of  a  passing-bell. 
We  say  amiss 
This  or  that  is  : 
Thy  word  is  all,  if  we  could  spell. 

O  that  I  once  past  changing  were. 
Fast  in  Thy  Paradise,  where  no  flower  can  wither  ! 

Many  a  spring  I  shoot  up  fair, 
Offerincr  at  heaven,  orrowino:  and  orroanino;  thither  : 


134                            QUIET  HOURS.  m 

Nor  doth  my  flower  1 

Want  a  spring-shower,  i 

My  sins  and  I  joining  together.  \ 

But  while  I  grow  in  a  straight  line,  | 

Still  upwards  bent,  as  if  heaven  were  mine  own,  i 

Thy  anger  comes,  and  I  decline  : 

What  frost  to  that  ?  what  pole  is  not  the  zone  .! 

Where  all  things  burn,  ^ 
When  thou  dost  turn, 
And  the  least  frown  of  Thine  is  shown? 


And  now  in  age  I  bud  again, 
After  so  many  deaths  I  live  and  write ; 
I  once  more  smell  the  dew  and  rain, 
And  relish  versing  :   O  my  only  light. 
It  cannot  be 
That  I  am  he 
On  whom  Thy  tempests  fell  all  night. 

These  are  Thy  wonders,  Lord  of  love, 
To  make  us  see  we  are  but  flowers  that  glide  : 

Which  when  we  once  can  find  and  prove. 
Thou  hast  a  garden  for  us,  where  to  bide. 
Who  would  be  more, 
Swelling  through  store, 
Forfeit  their  Paradise  by  their  pride. 

George  Herbert, 


TRUST  AND  ADORATION.  135 


PERFECTION. 

r\  HOW  the  thought  of  God  attracts 
^^     And  draws  the  heart  from  earth, 
And  sickens  it  of  passing  shows 
And  dissipating  mirtli. 

God  only  is  the  creature's  home, 
Though  long  and  rough  the  road ; 

Yet  nothing  less  can  satisfy 
The  love  that  longs  for  God. 

A  trusting  heart,  a  yearning  eye, 

Can  win  their  way  above  ; 
If  mountains  can  be  moved  by  faith, 

Is  there  less  power  in  love  ? 

The  freedom  from  all  wilful  sin. 
The  Christian's  daily  task,  — 

O  these  are  graces  far  below 
What  longing  love  would  ask  ! 

Good  is  the  cloister's  silent  shade. 
Cold  watch  and  pining  fast  ; 

Better  the  mission's  wearing  strife, 
If  there  thy  lot  be  cast. 

Yet  none  of  these  perfection  needs  :  — 

Keep  thy  heart  calm  all  day, 
And  catch  the  words  the  Spirit  there 

From  hour  to  hour  may  say. 


13^  QUIET  HOURS, 

O  keep  thy  conscience  sensitive  ; 

No  inward  token  miss  ; 
And  go  where  grace  entices  thee  ;  — 

Perfection  lies  in  this. 

Be  docile  to  thine  unseen  Guide, 

Love  Him  as  He  loves  thee  ; 
Time  and  obedience  are  enough, 

And  thou  a  saint  shalt  be  ! 

Frederick  William  Fabe*?. 


RECEIVING. 

"  Non  vox  sed  votum,  non  chordula  musica  sed  cor, 
Non  damans  sed  amans,  cantat  in  aure  Dei." 

"\ /TY  heart  is  fixed  on  One  above,  — 

^^     To  win  His  smile,  to  please  His  eyes 

My  heart  is  fain  :  because  I  love, 

I  serve,  —  nor  yet  with  tears  and  sighs  ; 

By  patient  duty  love  must  rise,  — 

And  late  and  early,  far  and  near 

1  sought  Him  gifts  ;  to  Him  are  dear 

The  things  that  others  still  despise. 

I  sought  for  Him  in  Spring-time  cold  ; 

The  trembling  palm  that  comes  in  haste. 

The  little  crocus  all  in  gold, 

The  slender  snow-drop,  and  the  bold 

Mezereon,  on  its  leafless  stem, 

Fair  things  that  do  not  fear  to  waste 

Their  gentle  souls  1  and  after  them 


TRUST  AND  ADORATION.  137 

Another  store  I  chanced  to  find 
Of  things  forgotten,  left  behind. 

Some  soft  white  fleece  by  briers  torn 
From  off  the  flock,  —  some  ear  of  corn 
Dropt  careless  from  the  gleaner's  breast, 
The  last  red  berry  on  the  thorn, 
Or  prize  of  some  forsaken  nest. 

There  came  on  earth  a  weary  time; 
If  this  be  Autumn,  where  is  now 
The  fruit  upon  the  laden  bough. 
The  harvest  redd'ning  in  the  broad 
Calm  sunshine,  where  the  squirrels'  hoard, 
The  winding  clear  of  hunter's  horn  ? 
Leaves  only,  withered  leaves  I  found  ; 
A  mournful  silence,  mournful  sound 
Of  wind  that  rustled  through  the  sere. 
Stark  boughs,  and  from  the  shrunken  ear 
Shook  out  the  thin  and  blighted  corn. 

But  while  I  mourned  thereat,  more  clear 
Than  song  of  bird  at  Autumn  eve, 
A  voice  was  borne  upon  mine  ear, 
A  voice  that  said,  "  Why  wilt  thou  grieve, 
And  must  I  still  from  thee  receive  ? 
How  hast  thou  learnt  which  pleaseth  best, 
The  gift  thou  bringest,  or  the  free 
Firm  open  palm  held  up  to  me  ? 
The  less  is  of  the  greater  blest.  ^"^ 


138  QUIET  HOURS. 

''  Oh  then,"  I  said,  "  at  this  Thy  word 
I  take  Thee  now,  through  zeal  I  erred, 
Through  love,  that  bids  me  now  confess 
My  fault  ;  to  give  be  Thine  ;  to  bless 
Is  Thine  ;  dear  Lord,  to  Thee  I  leave 
The  greater  blessing  !  with  the  less. 
So  well  content  I  will  not  grieve 
From  Thee  forever  to  receive, 


"And  still  receive  !  and  never  cease 
To  gaze  on  all  this  wealth  of  Thine, 
To  joy  in  all  Thy  flocks'  increase, 
Far  more  than  if  my  cup  with  wine 
And  oil  ran  o'er,  and  store  of  wheat 
In  finest  flour,  and  honey  sweet 
From  out  the  stony  rock  were  mine  ! 


"  '  To  give  than  to  receive  more  blest !  * 
Thou  saidest.     Oh,  Thou  Giver  free! 
Good  measure,  shaken  down  and  press'd 
Together,  now  I  ask  from  Thee ; 
Oh !  give  to  me,  dear  Lord,  and  still 
Increase  Thy  boons  !  make  broad  the  place 
Where  Thou  dost  dwell  in  me,  and  fill 
My  hands  with  gifts,  my  heart  with  grace  ; 
But  let  me  look  upon  Thy  face. 
What  need  to  mourn  if  Thou  on  mine 
But  little  comeliness  should  trace 
When  love  can  o^ive  me  all  of  Thine  ? 


TRUST  AND  ADORATION,  139 

The  loved  are  fair,  the  loved  are  dressed 

In  garments  rich  and  fresh  and  rare. 
Oh  !  bless  Thou  me  and  I  am  blest, 
Oh  !  love  Thou  me  and  I  am  fair  !  " 

Dora  Greenwell 


NO    FEAR. 

"  I  will  fear  no  evil,  for  Thou  art  with  me."     Ps.  xxiii.  4. 

T  N  Heavenly  Love  abiding, 

-*-     No  change  my  heart  shall  fear, 

And  safe  is  such  confiding. 

For  nothing  changes  here. 
The  storm  may  roar  without  me, 

My  heart  may  low  be  laid, 
But  God  is  round  about  me, 

And  can  I  be  dismayed  1 

Wherever  He  may  guide  me. 

No  want  shall  turn  me  back; 
My  Shepherd  is  beside  me. 

And  nothing  can  I  lack. 
His  wisdom  ever  waketh, 

His  sight  is  never  dim,  — 
He  knows  the  way  He  taketh, 

And  I  will  walk  with  Him. 

Green  pastures  are  before  me, 
Which  yet  I  have  not  seen  ; 

Bright  skies  will  soon  be  o'er  me. 
Where  the  dark  clouds  have  been. 


I40  QUIET  HOURS. 

My  hope  I  cannot  measure, 

My  path  to  life  is  free, 
My  Father  has  my  treasure, 

And  He  will  walk  with  me. 

Anna  L.  Waring. 


REST    IN    GOD. 

"XZEA,  my  spirit  fain  would  sink 

-*"     In  Thy  heart  and  hands,  my  God, 
Waiting  till  Thou  show  the  end 

Of  the  ways  she  here  hath  trod  ; 
Stripped  of  self,  how  calm  her  rest 
On  her  loving  Father's  breast ! 

And  my  soul  complaineth  not, 

For  she  knows  not  pain  or  fear, 
Clinging  to  her  God  in  faith, 

Trusting  though  He  slay  her  here. 
'T  is  when  flesh  and  blood  repine, 
Sun  of  joy,  Thou  canst  not  shine. 

Thus  my  soul  before  her  God 

Lieth  still,  nor  speaketh  more. 
Conqueror  thus  o'er  pain  and  wrong 

That  once  smote  her  to  the  core ; 
Like  a  silent  ocean,  bright 
With  her  God's  great  praise  and  light. 

Winkler,  1713. 


TRUST  AiXD   ADORATIOxV.  141 


PSALM    CXXL 

UP  to  those  bright  and  gladsome  hills 
Whence  flows  my  weal  and  mirth, 
I  look,  and  sigh  for  Him  who  fills 
Unseen  both  heav^en  and  earth. 

He  is  alone  my  help  and  hope, 

That  I  shall  not  be  moved  ; 
His  watchful  eye  is  ever  ope, 

And  guardeth  His  beloved. 

The  glorious  God  is  my  sole  stay, 

He  is  my  sun  and  shade  ; 
The  cold  by  night,  the  heat  by  day. 

Neither  shall  me  invade. 

Whether  abroad  amidst  the  crowd. 

Or  else  within  my  door, 
He  is  my  pillar  and  my  cloud. 

Now  and  for  evermore. 

Henry  Vaughan 


THY   WILL. 

T^AKE  Thine  own  way  with  me,  dear  Lord, 
"*-       Thou  canst  not  otherwise  than  bless  ; 
I  launch  me  forth  upon  a  sea 
Of  boundless  love  and  tenderness. 


T42  QUIET  HOURS. 

I  will  not  fear  Thee,  O  my  God  ! 

The  days  to  come  can  only  bring 
Their  perfect  sequences  of  love, 

Thy  larger,  deeper  comforting. 

Beneath  the  splendor  of  Thy  choice, 

Thy  perfect  choice  for  me,  I  rest ; 
Outside  it  now  I  dare  not  live, 

Within  it  I  must  needs  be  blest. 

Oh  !  it  is  life  indeed  to  live 

Within  this  kingdom  strangely  sweet ; 

And  yet  we  fear  to  enter  in, 
And  linger  with  unwilling  feet. 

We  fear  this  wondrous  rule  of  Thine, 

Because  we  have  not  reached  Thy  heart  ; 

Not  venturing  our  all  on  Thee, 

We  may  not  know  how  good  Thou  art. 

Jean  Sophia  Pigott. 


GOD'S   SUPPORT. 

TI?  VEN  as  a  nurse,  whose  child's  imperfect  pace 
"■— '   Can  hardly  lead  his  foot  from  place  to  place. 
Leaves  her  fond  kissing,  sets  him  down  to  go, 
Nor  does  uphold  him  for  a  step  or  two  ; 
But  when  she  finds  that  he  begins  to  fall, 
She  holds  him  up  and  kisses  him  withal ;  — 


TRUST  AND  ADORATION.  143 

So  God  from  man  sometimes  withdraws  His  hand 
Awhile,  to  teach  his  infant  faith  to  stand; 
But  when  He  sees  his  feeble  strength  begin 
To  fail,  He  gently  takes  him  up  again. 

QUAKLES 


JOY   IN   THE    LORD. 

A  H,  dearest  Lord !  to  feel  that  Thou  art  near 
-^  ^    Brings  deepest  peace,  and  hushes  every  fear; 
To  see  Thy  smile,  to  hear  Thy  gracious  voice, 
Makes  soul  and  body  inwardly  rejoice 
With  praise  and  thanks. 

We  cannot  see  as  yet  Thy  glorious  face, 
Not  yet  our  eyes  behold  its  love  and  grace, 
But  Thee  our  inmost  soul  can  surely  feel, 
Oh  clearly,  Lord,  canst  Thou  Thyself  reveal, 
Though  all  unseen ! 

Oh  well  for  him  who  ever  day  and  night 
Should  only  seek  to  feed  on  Thee  aright ! 
In  him  a  well  of  joy  forever  springs. 
And  all  day  long  his  heart  is  glad  and  sings  : 
Who  is  like  Thee  ? 

For  Thou  dost  love  to  meet  us  as  a  Friend, 
Our  comfort,  healing,  hope,  and  joy  to  send ; 
Patient  to  pity  and  to  calm  our  woe, 
And  daily  to  forgive  us  all  we  owe 
Of  Thv  rich  orrace. 


144  QUIET  HOURS. 

Whene'er  we  weep  soon  bid  our  tears  to  cease, 
And  make  us  feel  how  strong  Thy  love  and  peace ; 
And  let  the  soul  see  Thee  within,  and  learn 
From  need  and  love  alike  to  Thee  to  turn 
With  ceaseless  gaze. 

So  shall  we  all,  until  Thy  heaven  we  see. 
Like  children  evermore  be  glad  in  Thee, 
Though  many  a  time  the  sudden  tear  may  start,  — 
If  only  Thou  wilt  touch  the  throbbing  heart, 
And  still  is  pain  ! 

Christian  Gregor,  1778 


CHILDLIKE. 

"T^O  like  a  child,  and  lean  and  rest 
^^     Upon  thy  Father's  arm  ; 
Pour  out  thy  troubles  on  His  breast, 

And  thou  shalt  know  no  harm  ; 
Then  shalt  thou  by  His  hand  be  brought. 

By  ways  which  now  thou  knowest  not. 
Up  through  a  well-fought  fight. 
To  heavenly  peace  and  light. 

Paul  Gerhardt 


TRUST  AND  ADORATION.  145 


MOUNT   OF    OLIVES. 

TT7HEN  first  I  saw  true  beauty,  and  Thy  joys 
^  ^     Active  as  light,  and  calm  without  all  noise, 
Shined  on  my  soul,  I  felt  through  all  my  powers 
Such  a  rich  air  of  sweets,  as  evening  showers 
Fanned  by  a  gentle  gale  convey,  and  breathe 
On  some  parched  bank,  crowned  with  a  flowery  wreath  ; 
Odors,  and  myrrh,  and  balm  in  one  rich  flood, 
O'erran  my  heart,  and  spirited  my  blood  ; 
My  thoughts  did  swim  in  comforts,  and  mine  eye 
Confessed  the  world  did  only  paint  and  lie. 
And  where  before  I  did  no  safe  course  steer, 
But  wandered  under  tempests  all  the  year; 
Went  bleak  and  bare  in  body  as  in  mind. 
And  was  blown  through  by  every  storm  and  wind, 
I  am  so  warmed  now  by  this  glance  on  me, 
That  midst  all  storms  I  feel  a  ray  of  Thee. 
So  have  I  known  some  beauteous  paysage  rise 
In  sudden  flowers  and  arbors  to  my  eyes. 
And  in  the  depth  and  dead  of  winter  bring 
To  my  cold  thoughts  a  lively  sense  of  spring. 

Thus  fed  by  Thee,  who  dost  all  beings  nourish, 
My  withered  leaves  again  look  green  and  flourish  : 
I  shine  and  shelter  underneath  Thy  wing, 
Where  sick  with  love  I  strive  Thy  name  to  sing; 
Thy  glorious  name  !  which  grant  I  may  so  do. 
That  these  may  be  Thy  praise,  and  my  joy  too  ! 

Henry  Vaughan 
fO 


14^  QUIET  HOURS. 


FROM    "THE    PRELUDE." 

TT7HEN  first  I  made 

'  ^     Once  more  the  circuit  of  our  little  lake, 
If  ever  happiness  hath  lodged  with  man, 
That  day  consummate  happiness  was  mine, 
Wide-spreading,  steady,  calm,  contemplative. 
The  sun  was  set,  or  setting,  when  I  left 
Our  cottage  door,  and  evening  soon  brought  on 
A  sober  hour,  not  winning  or  serene, 
For  cold  and  raw  the  air  was,  and  untuned  ; 
But  as  a  face  we  love  is  sweetest  then 
When  sorrow  damps  it,  or  whatever  look 
It  chance  to  wear,  is  sweetest  if  the  heart 
Have  fulness  in  herself ;  even  so  with  me 
It  fared  that  evening.     Gently  did  my  soul 
Put  off  her  veil,  and  self-transmuted,  stood 
Naked,  as  in  the  presence  of  her  God. 
While  on  I  walked,  a  comfort  seemed  to  touch 
A  heart  that  had  not  been  disconsolate  : 
Strength  came  where  weakness  was  not  known  to  be, 
At  least  not  felt ;  and  restoration  came 
Like  an  intruder  knocking  at  the  door 
Of  unacknowledged  weariness.     I  took 
The  balance,  and  with  firm  hand  weighed  myself. 
—  Of  that  external  scene  which  round  me  lay. 
Little,  in  this  abstraction,  did  I  see. 
Remembered  less  ;  but  I  had  inward  hopes 
And  swellings  of  the  spirit,  was  rapt  and  scolhed. 


TRUST  AND  ADORATION.  147 

Conversed  with  promises,  had  glimmering  views 

How  h'fe  pervades  the  undecaying  mind ; 

How  the  immortal  soul  with  Godlike  power 

Informs,  creates,  and  thaws  the  deepest  sleep 

That  time  can  lay  upon  her  ;  liow  on  earth, 

Man,  if  he  do  but  live  within  the  light 

Of  high  endeavors,  daily  spreads  abroad 

His  being  armed  with  strength  that  cannot  fail. 

Nor  was  there  want  of  milder  thoughts,  of  love 

Of  innocence,  and  holiday  repose  ; 

And  more  than  pastoral  quiet,  'mid  the  stir 

Of  boldest  projects,  and  a  peaceful  end 

At  last,  or  glorious,  by  endurance  won. 

William  Wordsworth. 

CHANGE. 

TI?ATHER  !  there  is  no  change  to  live  with  Thee, 

-^      Save  that  in  Christ  I  grow  from  day  to  day ; 

In  each  new  word  I  hear,  each  thing  I  see, 

I  but  rejoicing  hasten  on  the  way  ; 

The  morning  comes  with  blushes  overspread, 

And  I  new-wakened  find  a  morn  within  ; 

And  in  its  modest  dawn  around  me  shed. 

Thou  hear'st  the  prayer  and  the  ascending  hymn ; 

Hour  follows  hour,  the  lengthening  shades  descend. 

Yet  they  could  never  reach  as  far  as  me. 

Did  not  Thy  love  its  kind  protection  lend, 

That  I  a  child  might  sleep  awhile  on  Thee, 

Till  to  the  light  restored  by  gentle  sleep 

With  new-found  zeal  I  might  Thy  precepts  keep. 

Jones  Very. 


14^  QUIET  HOURS. 


ALL   THINGS    ARE   YOURS. 

"  Arise,  walk  through  the  land  in  the  length  of  it  and  in  the  breadth  of 
it ;  for  I  will  give  it  unto  thee."     Gen.  xiii.  17. 
"All  things  are  yours  .  .  .  things  present."     i  Cor.  iii.  22,  23. 

YT  7HILE  toil  and  warfare  urge  us  on  our  way, 
^  ^      And  heart  is  answering  heart  in  signs  of  pain, 
Have  we  no  words  of  strengthening  joy  to  say  — 
No  songs  for  those  who  suffer  but  to  reign  ? 

Behold,  the  paths  of  Hfe  are  ours  —  we  see 
Our  blest  inheritance  where'er  we  tread; 

Sorrow  and  danger  our  security, 

And  disappointment  lifting  up  our  head. 

Kings  unto  God,  we  may  not  doubt  our  power. 

We  may  not  languish  when  He  says,  "  Be  strong  " — ^ 

We  must  move  on  through  every  adverse  hour. 
And  take  possession  as  we  pass  along. 

We  need  no  haste  where  he  has  said  "  Be  still"  — 
No  peace  where  He  has  charged  us  to  contend ; 

Only  the  fearless  love  to  do  His  will, 
And  to  show  forth  His  honor  to  the  end. 

O  ye  that  faint  and  die,  arise  and  live  ! 

Sing,  ye  that  all  things  have  a  charge  to  bless ! 
If  He  is  faithful  who  hath  sworn  to  give, 

Then  be  ye  also  faithful,  and  possess. 


J 


TRUST  AND   ADORATIOIV.  149 

Take  thy  whole  portion  with  thy  Master's  mind  — 
Toil,  hindrance,  hardness,  with  his  virtue  take  — 

And  think  how  short  a  time  thy  heart  may  find 
To  labor  or  to  suffer  for  his  sake. 

Ours  be  a  loyal  love  for  service  tried, 

To  show,  by  deeds  and  words  and  looks  that  cheer, 
How  he  can  bless  the  scene  in  which  he  died, 

And  fill  his  house  with  glory  even  here. 

Anna  L.  Waring. 


CHEERFULNESS  TAUGHT  BY  REASON. 

T   THINK  we  are  too  ready  with  complaint 

■^     In  this  fair  world  of  God's.     Had  we  no  hope 

Indeed  beyond  the  zenith  and  the  scope 

Of  yon  grey  blank  of  sky,  we  might  grow  faint 

To  muse  upon  eternity's  constraint 

Round  our  aspirant  souls  ;  but  since  the  scope 

Must  widen  early,  is  it  well  to  droop, 

For  a  few  days  consumed  in  loss  and  taint? 

O  pusillanimous  heart,  be  comforted, 

And,  like  a  cheerful  traveller,  take  the  road, 

Singing  beside  the  hedge.     What  if  the  bread 

Be  bitter  in  thine  inn,  and  thou  unshod 

To  meet  the  flints  1  at  least  it  may  be  said, 

'*  Because  the  way  is  short,  I  thank  Thee,  God." 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning 


150  QUIET  HOURS. 

GOD'S    PRESENCE    THE    SOURCE   OF   ALL 
JOY. 

"  In  Thy  presence  is  fulness  of  joy  ;  at  Thy  right  hand  there  are  pleas- 
ures forevermore."     Psalm  xvi.  11. 

r\  FRIEND  of  souls,  'tis  well  with  me 
^-^  Whene'er  Thy  love  my  spirit  calms  ! 
From  sorrow's  dungeon  forth  I  flee, 

And  hide  me  in  Thy  sheltering  arms. 
The  night  of  weeping  flies  away 
Before  the  heart-reviving  ray 

Of  love,  that  beams  from  out  Thy  breast  ; 
Here  is  my  heaven  on  earth  begun  ; 
Who  were  not  joyful  had  he  won 

In  Thee,  O  God,  his  joy  and  rest ! 

Through  deserts  of  the  cross  Thou  leadest, 

I  follow  leaning  on  Thy  hand  ; 
From  out  the  clouds  Thy  child  Thou  feedest, 

And  giv'st  him  water  from  the  sand. 
I  know  Thy  wondrous  ways  will  end 
In  love  and  blessing.  Thou  true  Friend, 

Enough,  if  Thou  art  ever  near ! 
I  know,  whom  Thou  wilt  glorify, 
And  raise  o'er  sun  and  stars  on  high, 

Thou  lead'st  through  depths  and  darkness  here. 

To  others  Death  seems  dark  and  grim. 

But  not,  Thou  Life  of  life,  to  me ; 
I  know  Thou  ne'er  forsakest  him 

Whose  heart  and  spirit  rest  in  Thee. 


! 


TRUST  AND  A  DOR  A  TION.  i  S  i 

Oh  who  would  fear  his  journey's  close, 
If  from  dark  woods  and  lurking  foes, 

He  then  find  safety  and  release  ? 
Nay,  rather  with  a  joyful  heart 
From  this  dark  region  I  depart. 

To  Thy  eternal  light  and  peace. 

O  Friend  of  souls,  'tis  well  indeed 

With  me,  when  on  Thy  love  I  lean  ! 
The  world,  nor  pain,  nor  death  I  heed, 

Since  Thou,  my  God,  my  joy  hast  been. 
Oh  let  this  peace  that  Thou  hast  given 
Be  but  a  foretaste  of  Thy  heaven, 

For  goodness  infinite  is  Thine. 
Hence,  world,  with  all  thy  flattering  toys  ! 
In  God  alone  lie  all  my  joys  ; 

Oh  rich  delight,  my  Friend  is  mine  ! 

Wolfgang  Dessler,  i69Z 


ON    A   LONG   AND    PERILOUS   JOURNEY. 

TTTHERE'ER  I  go,  whatever  my  task, 
^  ^     The  counsel  of  my  God  I  ask. 

Who  all  things  hath  and  can  ; 
Unless  He  give  both  thought  and  deed 
The  utmost  pains  can  ne'er  succeed, 

And  vain  the  wisest  plan. 

For  what  can  all  my  toil  avail  ? 
My  care,  my  watching  all  must  fail, 
Unless  my  God  is  there  ; 


152  QUIET  HOURS, 

Then  let  Him  order  all  for  me 
As  He  in  wisdom  shall  decree ; 
On  Him  I  cast  my  care. 

For  nought  can  come,  as  nought  hath  been, 
But  what  my  Father  hath  foreseen, 

And  what  shall  work  my  good  ; 
Whatever  He  gives  me  I  will  take, 
Whate'er  He  chooses  I  will  make 

My  choice  with  thankful  mood. 

When  late  at  night  my  rest  I  take, 
When  early  in  the  morn  I  wake, 

Halting  or  on  my  way, 
In  hours  of  weakness  or  in  bonds, 
When  vexed  with  fears  my  heart  desponds, 

His  promise  is  my  stay. 

Since  then  my  course  is  traced  by  Him 
I  will  not  fear  that  future  dim, 

But  go  to  meet  my  doom, 
Well  knowing  nought  can  wait  me  there 
Too  hard  for  me  through  Him  to  bear  ; 

I  yet  shall  overcome. 

To  Him  myself  I  wholly  give, 
At  His  command  I  die  or  hve, 

I  trust  His  love  and  power ; 
Whether  to-morrow  or  to-day 
His  summons  come,  I  will  obey, 

He  knows  the  proper  hour. 


TRUST  AND  ADORATION.  153 

Then,  oh  my  soul,  be  ne'er  afraid. 
On  Him  who  thee  and  all  things  made 

Do  thou  all  calmly  rest ; 
Whate'er  may  come,  where'er  we  go, 
Our  Father  in  the  heavens  must  know 

In  all  things  what  is  best. 

Paul  Flemming,  1631. 


GOD    IS    FAITHFUL. 

"  God  is  faithful,  by  whom  ye  were  called  unto  the  fellowship  of  his  Son 
Jesus  Christ  our  Lord."     i  Cor.  i.  6. 

T30WED  with  a  burden  none  can  weigh  save  Thee, 

Strength  of  my  life,  on  Thee  I  cast  my  care  ; 
My  heart  must  prove  its  own  infirmity. 

But  what  shall  move  me,  if  my  God  be  there  ? 

Oh  for  a  thankful  song  with  every  breath. 

While  amid  fading  flowers  and  withering  grass, 

I,  with  Thee,  through  the  grave  and  gate  of  death. 
On  to  my  joyful  resurrection  pass. 

Armed  with  the  spirit  of  my  Master's  mind, 

How  shall  I  spare  a  thought  that  he  would  slay  ! 

Lord,  I  would  leave  those  things  that  are  behind. 
And  press  towards  Heaven  through  all  the  narrow  way. 

Bright  be  my  prospect  as  I  pass  along  ;  — 

An  ardent  service  at  the  cost  of  all,  — 
Love  by  untiring  ministry  made  strong, 

And  ready  for  the  first,  the  softest  call. 


154  QUIET  HOURS. 

Yes,  God  is  faithful  —  and  my  lot  is  cast ; 

Oh,  not  myself  to  serve,  my  own  to  be  ! 
Light  of  my  life,  the  darkness  now  is  past. 

And  I  beneath  the  cross  can  work  for  Thee. 

Anna  L.  Waring. 


DISAPPOINTMENT. 


/^UR  yet  unfinished  story 
^^     Is  tending  all  to  this  : 
To  God  the  greatest  glory, 
To  us  the  greatest  bliss. 

If  all  things  work  together 
For  ends  so  grand  and  blest, 

What  need  to  wonder  whether 
Each  in  itself  is  best ! 

If  some  things  were  omitted 
Or  altered  as  we  would. 

The  whole  might  be  unfitted 
To  work  for  perfect  good. 

Our  plans  may  be  disjointed, 
But  we  may  calmly  rest : 

What  God  has  once  appointed 
Is  better  than  our  best. 

We  cannot  see  before  us, 
But  our  all-seeing  Friend 

Is  always  watching  o'er  us, 
And  knows  the  very  end. 


TRUST  AXD  ADORATIOX.  155 

What  though  we  seem  to  stumble, 

He  will  not  let  us  fall ; 
And  learning  to  be  humble 

Is  not  lost  time  at  all. 

What  though  we  fondly  reckoned, 

A  smoother  way  to  go 
Than  where  His  hand  has  beckoned. 

It  will  be  better  so. 

And  when  amid  our  blindness 

His  disappointments  fall, 
We  trust  His  loving-kindness 

Whose  wisdom  sends  them  all. 

Then  tremble  not  and  shrink  not 

W^hen  Disappointment  nears  ; 
Be  trustful  still,  and  think  not 

To  realize  all  fears. 

While  we  are  meekly  kneeling, 

We  shall  behold  her  rise, 
Our  Father's  love  revealing, 

An  angel  in  disguise. 

FR-A.NCBS  Ridley  Havergau 


iS6 


QUIET  HOURS. 


OUR   STRONGHOLD    OF   HOPE. 

i^^OD  livetb  ever! 

^^    Wherefore,  Soul,  despair  thou  never ! 
Our  God  is  good,  in  every  place 

His  love  is  known,  His  help  is  found; 
His  mighty  arm,  and  tender  grace 

Bring  good  from  ills  that  hem  us  round  ; 

Easier  than  we  think  can  He 

Turn  to  joy  our  agony  ; 

Soul,  remember  'mid  thy  pains, 

God  o'er  all  for  ever  reio:ns. 


God  liveth  ever! 
Wherefore,  Soul,  despair  thou  never  ! 
He  who  can  earth  and  heaven  control. 

Who  spreads  the  clouds  o'er  sea  and  land, 
Whose  presence  fills  the  mighty  Whole, 
In  each  true  heart  is  close  at  hand  ; 
Love  Him,  He  will  surely  send 
Help  and  joy  that  never  end. 
Soul,  remember  in  thy  pains, 
God  o'er  all  for  ever  reigns. 

God  liveth  ever  ! 

Wherefore,  Soul,  despair  thou  never  ! 
When  sins  and  follies  long  forgot 

Upon  thy  tortured  conscience  prey, 
Oh,  come  to  God,  and  fear  Him  not, 

His  love  shall  sweep  them  all  away. 


Jil. 


TRUST  AND  ADORATION.  157 

Pains  of  hell  at  look  of  His 
Change  to  calm  content  and  bliss. 
Soul,  remember  in  thy  pains, 
God  o'er  all  for  ever  reigns. 

God  liveth  ever ! 
Wherefore,  Soul,  despair  thou  never  ! 
Those  whom  the  thoughtless  world  forsakes, 

Who  stand  bewildered  with  their  woe, 
God  gently  to  His  bosom  takes, 

And  bids  them  all  His  fulness  know ; 
In  thy  sorrows'  swelling  flood 
Own  His  hand  who  seeks  thy  good- 
Soul,  forget  not  in  thy  pains, 
God  o'er  all  for  ever  reigns. 

God  liveth  ever ! 
Wherefore,  Soul,  despair  thou  never ! 
What  though  thou  tread  with  bleeding  feet 

A  thorny  path  of  grief  and  gloom, 
Thy  God  will  choose  the  way  most  meet 
To  lead  thee  heavenwards,  lead  thee  home. 
For  this  life's  long  night  of  sadness 
He  will  give  thee  peace  and  gladness  ; 
Soul,  remember  in  thy  pains, 
God  o'er  all  for  ever  reigns- 

ZlHN,   16S2. 


T5^  QUIET  HOURS, 


"  Thou  wilt  keep  him  in  perfect  peace^  whose  mind  is 
stayed  on  Thee :  because  he  trusteth  in  TheeP  Is  A. 
xxvi.  3. 

/^  THIS  is  blessing,  this  is  rest  — 

-^     Into  Thine  arms,  O  Lord,  I  flee  : 
I  hide  me  in  Thy  faithful  breast, 
And  pour  out  all  my  soul  to  Thee. 

0  tenderness  —  O  truth  divine! 
Lord,  I  am  altogether  Thine. 

1  have  bowed  down,  —  I  need  not  flee  — 
Peace,  peace  is  mine  in  trusting  Thee. 

And  now  I  count  supremely  kind 
The  rule  that  once  I  thought  severe ; 
And  precious  to  my  altered  mind, 
At  length.  Thy  least  reproofs  appear. 
Now  to  the  love  that  casts  out  fear, 
Mercy  and  truth  indeed  seem  one ; 
Why  should  I  hold  my  ease  so  dear  ? 
The  work  of  training  must  be  done. 
I  must  be  taught  what  I  would  know  — 
I  must  be  led  where  I  would  go  — 
And  all  the  rest  ordained  for  me, 
Till  that  which  is  not  seen  I  see 
Is  to  be  found  in  trusting  Thee. 

Anna  L.  Waring 


TRUST  AND   ADORATION.  159 

TO    MYSELF. 

T    ET  nothing  make  thee  sad  or  fretful, 
^-^     Or  too  regretful, 

Be  still  ; 
What  God  hath  ordered  must  be  right, 
Then  find  in  it  thine  own  delight, 

My  will. 

Why  shouldst  thou  fill  to-day  with  sorrow 
About  to-morrow, 

My  heart? 
One  watches  all  with  care  most  true, 
Doubt  not  that  He  will  give  thee  too 

Thy  part. 

Only  be  steadfast,  never  waver, 
Nor  seek  earth's  favor. 

But  rest : 
Thou  knowest  what  God  wills  must  be 
For  all  His  creatures,  so  for  thee. 

The  best. 

Paul  Flemming,  1609-1640. 

CONFIDO  ET  CONQUIESCO. 

**  Scit ;  potest ;  vult :  quid  est  quod  timeamus." 

St.  Ignatius 

"pRET  not,  poor  soul :  while  doubt  and  fear 
•*•      Disturb  thy  breast, 
The  pitying  angels,  who  can  see 
How  vain  thy  wild  regret  must  be. 
Say,  Trust  and  Rest. 


l6o  QUIET  HOURS. 

Plan  not,  nor  scheme,  —  but  calmly  wait ; 

His  choice  is  best. 
While  blind  and  erring  is  thy  sight, 
His  wisdom  sees  and  judges  right, 

So  Trust  and  Rest. 

Strive  not,  nor  struggle  :  thy  poor  might 

Can  never  wrest 
The  meanest  thing  to  serve  thy  will ; 
All  power  is  His  alone :  Be  still, 

And  Trust  and  Rest. 

Desire  not  :  self-love  is  strong 

Within  thy  breast ; 
And  yet  He  loves  thee  better  still, 
So  let  Him  do  His  loving  will, 

And  Trust  and  Rest. 

What  dost  thou  fear  ?     His  wisdom  reigns 

Supreme  confessed ; 
His  power  is  infinite  ;   His  love 
Thy  deepest,  fondest  dreams  above;  — 

So  Trust  and  Rest. 

Adelaide  A.  Procter 


o 


ONLY   THINE. 
LOVE,  who  formedst  me  to  wear 


The  image  of  Thy  Godhead  here  ; 
Who  soughtest  me  with  tender  care 
Through  all  my  wanderings  wild  and'drear,  — 
O  Love,  I  give  myself  to  Thee, 
Thine  ever,  only  Thine  to  be. 


TRUST  AND  ADORATION,  l6i 

O  Love,  who  soon  shalt  bid  me  rise 
From  out  this  dying  life  of  ours  ; 
O  Love,  who  soon  o'er  yonder  skies 
Shalt  set  me  in  the  fadeless  bowers, — 
O  Love,  I  give  myself  to  Thee, 
Thine  ever,  only  Thine  to  be. 

JOHANN    SCHEFFLER  (AnGELUS    SlLESIUS),    1657 

'T^HOU  knowest  that  I  am  not  blest 
-■"       As  Thou  would 'st  have  me  be, 
Till  all  the  peace  and  joy  of  faith 

Possess  my  soul  in  Thee  ; 
And  still  I  seek  'mid  many  fears, 

With  yearnings  unexprest, 
The  comfort  of  Thy  strengthening  love, 

Thy  soothing,  settUng  rest. 
And  while  I  wait  for  all  Thy  joys, 

My  yearning  heart  to  fill, 
Teach  me  to  walk  and  work  with  Thee, 

And  at  Thy  feet  sit  still. 

Anna  L.  Waring, 


^^  All  things  work  together  for  good  to  them  that  love 
GodJ^     Romans  viii.  28. 

/^  WHAT  a  load  of  struggle  and  distress 
^^  Falls  off  before  the  cross  !     The  feverish  care  ; 
The  wish  that  we  were  other  than  we  are  ; 
The  sick  regrets  ;  the  yearnings  numberless  ; 
The  thought,  "  this  might  have  been/'  so  apt  to  press 
II 


l62 


QUIET  HOURS, 


On  the  reluctant  soul  ;  even  past  despair, 

Past  sin  itself  —  all  —  all  is  turned  to  fair, 

Aye  !  to  a  scheme  of  ordered  happiness, 

So  soon  as  we  love  God,  or  rather  know 

That  God  loves  us  !  —  Accepting  the  great  pledge 

Of  His  concern  for  all  our  wants  and  woe, 

We  cease  to  tremble  upon  danger's  edge  ; 

While  varying  troubles  form  and  burst  anew, 

Safe  in  a  Father's  arms  we  smile  as  infants  do ! 


Chauncy  Hare  Townshend,.*! 


I 


HEAVEN   AND   THE   SAINTS. 


FROM    "ELEANORA." 

A  S  precious  gums  are  not  for  lasting  fire, 
"^^^  They  but  perfume  the  temple,  and  expire; 
So  was  she  soon  exhaled,  and  vanished  hence ; 
A  short,  sweet  odor,  of  a  vast  expense. 
She  vanished,  we  can  scarcely  say  she  died ; 
For  but  a  now  did  heaven  and  earth  divide  : 
She  passed  serenely  with  a  single  breath  ; 
This  moment  perfect  health,  the  next  was  death : 
As  gentle  dreams  our  waking  thoughts  pursue, 
Or,  one  dream  passed,  we  slide  into  a  new ; 
So  close  they  follow,  such  wild  order  keep, 
We  think  ourselves  awake,  and  are  asleep : 
So  softly  death  succeeded  hfe  in  her : 
She  did  but  dream  of  heaven,  and  she  was  there. 
No  pains  she  suffered,  nor  expired  with  noise  ; 
Her  soul  was  whispered  out  with  God's  still  voice. 

John  Drvden. 


164  QUIET  HOURS. 


ON    THE   RELIGIOUS    MEMORY   OF   MRS. 
CATHERINE    THOMSON, 

MY    CHRISTIAN    FRIEND,    DECEASED    16   DECEMBER,    1646. 

Tl  THEN  Faith  and  Love,  which  parted  from  thee    ; 
'  ^  never,  | 

Had  ripened  thy  just  soul  to  dwell  with  God, 
Meekly  thou  didst  resign  this  earthy  load 
Of  death,  called  life,  which  us  from  life  doth  sever. 
Thy  works  and  alms  and  all  thy  good  endeavor 
Stayed  not  behind,  nor  in  the  grave  were  trod ; 
But,  as  Faith  pointed  with  her  golden  rod,  | 

Followed  thee  up  to  joy  and  bliss  forever.  I 

Love  led  them  on,  and  Faith,  who  knew  them  best,         \ 
Thy  handmaids,  clad  them  o'er  with  purple  beams  ';^ 

And  azure  wings,  that  up  they  flew  so  drest. 
And  spake  the  truth  of  thee  on  glorious  themes  I 

Before  the  Judge  ;  who  thenceforth  bid  thee  rest,  \ 

And  drink  thy  fill  of  pure  immortal  streams.  j 

John  Milton.     \ 


^SHE   DWELT  AMONG   THE   UNTRODDEN 
WAYS." 

SHE  dwelt  among  the  untrodden  ways 
Beside  the  springs  of  Dove, 
A  maid  whom  there  were  none  to  praise 
And  very  few  to  love  : 


HEAVEN  AND    THE  SAINTS,  165 

A  violet  by  a  mossy  stone 

Half  hidden  from  the  eye ! 
Fair  as  a  star,  when  only  one 

Is  shining  in  the  sky. 

She  lived  unknown,  and  few  could  know 

When  Lucy  ceased  to  be ; 
But  she  is  in  her  grave,  and,  oli, 

The  difference  to  me  1 

William  Wordsworth,  1799. 


ELEGY  ON  aMISTRESS  ELIZABETH  DRURY. 

OHE,  of  whose  soul,  if  we  may  say,  'twas  gold, 
*^   Her  body  was  the  Electrum,  and  did  hold 
Many  degrees  of  that ;  we  understood 
Her  by  her  sight;  her  pure  and  eloquent  blood 
Spoke  in  her  cheeks,  and  so  distinctly  wrought, 
That  one  might  almost  say,  her  body  thought. 

She  whom  we  celebrate  is  gone  before  : 

She  who  had  here  so  much  essential  joy. 

As  no  chance  could  distract,  much  less  destroy; 

Who  with  God's  presence  was  acquainted  so, 

(Hearing  and  speaking  to  Him),  as  to  know 

His  face  in  any  natural  stone  or  tree 

Better  than  when  in  images  they  be  : 


i66  QUIET  HOURS. 

Whose  twilights  were  more  clear  than  our  mid-day ; 
Who  dreamed  devoutlier  than  most  use  to  pray : 
Who,  being  here  filled  with  grace,  yet  strove  to  be 
Both  where  more  grace  and  more  capacity 
At  once  is  given.     She  to  Heaven  is  gone, 
Who  made  this  world  in  some  proportion 
A  Heaven,  and  here  became  unto  us  all 
Joy  (as  our  joys  admit)  essential. 

John  Donne. 


nPHE  good,  — they  drop  around  us,  one  by  one, 
•*"     Like  stars,  when  morning  breaks  ;  though  lost  to 

sight, 
Around  us  are  they  still  in  Heaven's  own  light, 
Building  their  mansions  in  the  purer  zone 
Of  the  invisible  ;  when  round  are  thrown 
Shadows  of  sorrow,  still  serenely  bright 
To  faith  they  gleam  ;  and  blest  be  sorrow's  night 
That  brings  the  o'erarching  heavens  in  silence  down, 
A  mantle  set  with  orbs  unearthly  fair  ! 
Alas !  to  us  they  are  not,  though  they  dwell. 
Divinely  dwell  in  memory  ;  while  life's  sun 
Declining,  bids  us  for  the  night  prepare  ; 
That  we,  with  urns  of  light,  and  our  task  done, 
May  stand  with  them  in  lot  unchangeable. 

Isaac  Williams. 


I 


HEAVEN  AND    THE  SAINTS.  167 


LIGHT    IN    DARKNESS. 

'T^HE  hand  of  Death  lay  heavy  on  her  eyes,  — 
-*-     For  weeks  and  weeks  her  vision  had  not  borne 
To  meet  the  tenderest  hght  of  eve  or  morn, 
To  see  the  crescent  moonbeam  set  or  rise, 
Or  palest  twilight  creep  across  the  skies  : 
She  lay  in  darkness,  seemingly  forlorn, 
With  sharp  and  ceaseless  anguish  racked  and  torn, 
Yet  calm  with  that  one  peace  which  never  dies. 
Closed  was  for  her  the  gate  of  visual  sense, 
This  world  and  all  its  beauty  lost  in  night ; 
But  the  pure  soul  was  all  ablaze  with  light, 
And  through  that  gloom  she  saw,  with  gaze  intense, 
Celestial  glories,  hid  from  fleshly  sight, 
And  heard  angelic  voices  call  her  hence. 

John  Moultrie. 

FROM    ^'WALLENSTEIN." 

T  TE  is  gone  —  is  dust. 

•^  ^  He,  the  more  fortunate  !  yea,  he  hath  finished ! 

For  him  there  is  no  longer  any  future. 

His  life  is  bright,  —  bright  without  spot  it  was 

And  cannot  cease  to  be.     No  ominous  hour 

Knocks  at  his  door  with  tidings  of  mishap. 

Far  off  is  he,  above  desire  and  fear ; 

No  more  submitted  to  the  change  and  chance 

Of  the  unsteady  planets.     O  't  is  well 

With  hun  /  but  who  knows  what  the  coming  hour 

Veiled  in  thick  darkness  brings  for  us  ! 


i68  QUIET  HOURS, 

That  anguish  will  be  wearied  down,  I  know ; 
What  pang  is  permanent  with  man  ?  from  the  highest 
As  from  the  vilest  thing  of  every  day 
He  learns  to  wean  himself ;  for  the  strong  hours 
Conquer  him.     Yet  I  feel  what  I  have  lost 
In  him.     The  bloom  is  vanished  from  my  Hfe. 
For  O  !  he  stood  beside  me,  like  my  youth, 
Transformed  for  me  the  real  to  a  dream, 
Clothing  the  palpable  and  the  familiar 
With  golden  exhalations  of  the  dawn. 
Whatever  fortunes  wait  my  future  toils, 
The  beautiful  is  vanished  —  and  returns  not. 

Friedrich  von  Schiller, 
Translated  by  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge. 


FROM   "LACRYM^   PATERN^.'* 

TT  7HY,  day  by  day,  this  painful  questioning  ? 

^  ^       I  know  that  //  is  well,     I  know  that  there 
(O  where  ?)  thou  hast  protectors,  guardians,  friends, 
If  such  be  needed  :   angel  companies 

Move  round  thee  :  mighty  spirits  lead  thy  thoughts 
To  founts  of  knowledge  which  v/e  never  saw. 

I  know  that  thou  art  happy  —  fresh  desire 
Springing  each  day,  and  each  day  satisfied  : 

God's  glorious  works  all  open  to  thy  view. 
His  blessed  creatures  thine  —  where  pain  nor  death 

Disturbs  not,  nor  divides.     All  this  I  know  — 
But  O  for  one  short  sight  of  what  I  know ! 

Henry  Alford. 


HEAVEN  AND    THE  SAINTS.  169 


FROM    "LAODAMIA." 

TTE  spake  of  love,  such  love  as  spirits  feel 
-'--'■     In  worlds  whose  course  is  equable  and  pure  ; 

No  fears  to  beat  away,  no  strife  to  heal,  j 

The  past  unsighed  for,  and  the  future  sure  ;  \ 

Spake  of  heroic  arts  in  graver  mood  I 

Revived,  with  finer  harmony  pursued  ;  ; 

Of  all  that  is  most  beauteous  —  imaged  there  ; 

In  happier  beauty  :  more  pellucid  streams,  j 

An  ampler  ether,  a  diviner  air,  ; 

And  fields  invested  with  purpureal  gleams  ; 
Climes  which  the  sun,  who  sheds  the  brightest  day 
Earth  knows,  is  all  unworthy  to  survey.  ' 

William  Wordsworth  | 


PEACE. 

A/fY  soul,  there  is  a  country 
^^  Afar  beyond  the  stars, 
Where  stands  a  winged  sentry 

All  skilful  in  the  wars. 
There,  above  noise  and  danger. 

Sweet  Peace  sits  crowned  with  smiles, 
And  One  born  in  a  manger 

Commands  the  beauteous  files. 
He  is  thy  gracious  Friend 

And  (O  my  soul !  awake) 
Did  in  pure  love  descend. 

To  die  here  for  thy  sake. 


1 70  QUIET  HOURS. 

If  thou  canst  but  get  thither, 

There  grows  the  flower  of  peace, 
The  rose  that  cannot  wither, 

Thy  fortress,  and  thy  ease. 
Leave,  then,  thy  foolish  ranges  ; 

For  none  can  thee  secure 
But  One,  who  never  changes. 

Thy  God,  thy  Life,  thy  Cure. 

Henry  Vaughan 


THE    FUTURE   LIFE. 

T  TOW  shall  I  know  thee  in  the  sphere  which  keeps 
-*-  ^     The  disembodied  spirits  of  the  dead, 
When  all  of  thee  that  time  could  wither  sleeps 

And  perishes  among  the  dust  we  tread  t 

For  I  shall  feel  the  sting  of  ceaseless  pain 
If  there  I  meet  thy  gentle  presence  not; 

Nor  hear  the  voice  I  love,  nor  read  again 
In  thy  serenest  eyes  the  tender  thought. 

Will  not  thy  own  meek  heart  demand  me  there  ? 

That  heart  whose  fondest  throbs  to  me  were  given  ! 
My  name  on  earth  was  ever  in  thy  prayer. 

And  wilt  thou  never  utter  it  in  heaven  .^^ 

In  meadows  fanned  by  heaven's  life-breathing  wind, 
In  the  resplendence  of  that  glorious  sphere. 

And  larger  movements  of  the  unfettered  mind. 
Wilt  thou  forget  the  love  that  joined  us  here  .'^ 


HEAVEN  AND   THE  SAINTS.  17 1 

The  love  that  lived  through  all  the  stormy  past, 
And  meekly  with  my  harsher  nature  bore, 

And  deeper  grew,  and  tenderer  to  the  last, 
Shall  it  expire  with  life,  and  be  no  more? 

A  happier  lot  than  mine,  and  larger  light, 

Await  thee  there ;  for  thou  hast  bowed  thy  will 

In  cheerful  homage  to  the  rule  of  right. 
And  lovest  all,  and  renderest  good  for  ill. 

For  me,  the  sordid  cares  in  which  I  dwell, 

Shrink  and  consume  my  heart,  as  heat  the  scroll ; 

And  wrath  has  left  its  scar  —  that  fire  of  hell 
Has  left  its  frightful  scar  upon  my  soul. 

Yet  though  thou  wear'st  the  glory  of  the  sky. 
Wilt  thou  not  keep  the  same  beloved  name, 

The  same  fair  thoughtful  brow,  and  gentle  eye, 
Lovelier  in  heaven's  sweet  climate,  yet  the  same  ? 

Shalt  thou  not  teach  me,  in  that  calmer  home, 
The  wisdom  that  I  learned  so  ill  in  this  — 

The  wisdom  which  is  love — till  I  become 
Thy  fit  companion  in  that  land  of  bhss  ? 

WiLLIAiM    CULLEN    BrYANT. 


TO    MARY   WORDSWORTH. 

r\  DEARER  far  than  light  and  life  are  dear, 
^^     Full  oft  our  human  foresight  I  deplore  ; 
Trembling,  through  my  unworthiness,  with  fear 

That  friends,  by  death  disjoined,  may  ineet  no  more  ! 


1/2  QUIET  HOURS. 

Misgivings,  hard  to  vanquish  or  control, 

Mix  with  the  day  and  cross  the  hour  of  rest ; 

While  all  the  future,  for  thy  purer  soul, 
With  "  sober  certainties  "  of  love  is  blest. 

If  a  faint  sigh,  not  meant  for  human  ear, 
Tell  that  these  words  thy  humbleness  offend, 

Cherish  me  still  —  else  faltering  in  the  rear 
Of  a  steep  march  ;  uphold  me  to  the  end. 

Peace  settles  where  the  intellect  is  meek, 
And  love  is  dutiful  in  thought  and  deed ; 

Through  thee  communion  with  that  Love  I  seek  ; 
The  faith  Heaven  strengthens  where  He  moulds  the 
creed. 

William  Wordsworth. 


MAKE  ME  TO   BE   NUMBERED  WITH 
THY   SAINTS. 

/^  WHEN  my  God,  my  glory,  brings 
^-^     His  white  and  holy  train 
Unto  those  clear  and  living  springs 
Where  comes  no  stain ! 

Where  all  is  Hght,  and  flowers,  and  fruit, 

And  joy,  and  rest. 
Make  me  amongst  them,  't  is  my  suit ! 

The  last  one  and  the  least. 

Henry  Vaughan. 


HEAVEN  AND    THE  SAINTS.  173 


THE   CONQUEROR'S    GRAVE. 

TT7ITHIN    this  lowly  grave  a  Conqueror  lies, 

^  ^      And  yet  the  monument  proclaims  it  not. 

Nor  round  the  sleeper's  name  hath  chisel  wrought 

The  emblems  of  a  fame  that  never  dies, 
Ivy  and  amaranth,  in  a  graceful  sheaf, 
Twined  with  the  laurel's  fair,  imperial  leaf. 
A  simple  name  alone, 
To  the  great  world  unknown, 
Is  graven  here,  and  wild  flow^ers,  rising  round, 
Meek  meadow-sweet  and  violets  of  the  ground, 
Lean  lovingly  against  the  humble  stone. 

Here,  in  the  quiet  earth,  they  laid  apart 

No  man  of  iron  mould  and  bloody  hands, 
Who  sought  to  wreak  upon  the  cowering  lands 

The  passions  that  consumed  his  restless  heart ; 
But  one  of  tender  spirit  and  delicate  frame, 
Gentlest  in  mien  and  mind 
Of  gentle  womankind. 
Timidly  shrinking  from  the  breath  of  blame  : 
One  in  whose  eyes  the  smile  of  kindness  made 

Its  haunt,  like  flowers  by  sunny  brooks  in  May, 
Yet,  at  the  thought  of  others'  pain,  a  shade 

Of  sweeter  sadness  chased  the  smile  away. 

Nor  deem  that  when  the  hand  that  moulders  here 
Was  raised  in  menace,  realms  were  chilled  with  fear, 


174  QUIET  HOURS. 

And  armies  mustered  at  the  sign,  as  when 
Clouds  rise  on  clouds  before  the  rainy  East,  — 
Gray  captains  leading  bands  of  veteran  men 
And  fiery  youths  to  be  the  vulture's  feast. 
Not  thus  were  waged  the  mighty  wars  that  gave 
The  victory  to  her  who  fills  this  grave  : 

Alone  her  task  was  wrought, 

Alone  the  battle  fought ; 
Through  that  long  strife  her  constant  hope  was  staid 
On  God  alone,  nor  looked  for  other  aid. 

She  met  the  hosts  of  Sorrow  with  a  look 

That  altered  not  beneath  the  frown  they  wore, 
And  soon  the  lowering  brood  were  tamed,  and  took. 

Meekly,  her  gentle  rule,  and  frowned  no  more. 
Her  soft  hand  put  aside  the  assaults  of  wrath, 
And  calmly  broke  in  twain 
The  fiery  shafts  of  pain, 
And  rent  the  nets  of  passion  from  her  path. 

By  that  victorious  hand  despair  was  slain, 
With  love  she  vanquished  hate,  and  overcame 

Evil  with  good,  in  her  great  Master's  name. 

Her  glory  is  not  of  this  shadowy  state, 

Glory  that  with  the  fleeting  season  dies  ; 
But  when  she  entered  at  the  sapphire  gate 
What  joy  was  radiant  in  celestial  eyes ! 
How  heaven's  bright  depths  with  sounding  welcomes 

rung. 
And  flowers  of  heaven  by  shining  hands  were  flung  ! 
And  he  who,  long  before, 
Pain,  scorn,  and  sorrow  bore, 


HEAVEN  AND    THE  SAINTS.  175 

The  Mighty  Sufferer,  with  aspect  sweet, 

Smiled  on  the  timid  stranger  from  his  seat; 

He  who  returning,  glorious,  from  the  grave. 

Dragged  Death,  disarmed,  in  chains,  a  crouching  slave. 

See,  as  I  linger  here,  the  sun  grows  low  ; 

Cool  airs  are  murmuring  that  the  night  is  near. 
O  gentle  sleeper,  from  thy  grave  I  go. 

Consoled  though  sad,  in  hope  and  yet  in  fear. 
Brief  is  the  time,  I  know. 
The  warfare  scarce  begun. 
Yet  all  may  win  the  triumphs  thou  hast  won. 
Still  flows  the  fount  whose  waters  strengthened  thee  ; 

The  victors'  names  are  yet  too  few  to  fill 
Heaven's  mighty  roll ;  the  glorious  armory, 
That  ministered  to  thee,  is  open  still. 

William  Cullen  Bryant. 


LIFE. 

T    IFE  !  I  know  not  what  thou  art, 
-■^^  But  know  that  thou  and  I  must  part, 
And  when,  or  how,  or  where  we  met, 
I  own  to  me  's  a  secret  yet. 

Life  !  we  've  been  long  together, 
Through  pleasant  and  through  cloudy  weather; 
'T  is  hard  to  part  when  friends  are  dear,  — 
Perhaps  't  will  cost  a  sigh,  a  tear ; 


176  QUIET  HOURS. 

Then  steal  away,  give  little  warning, 

Choose  thine  own  time; 

Say  not  Good  Night, — but  in  some  brighter  clime 

Bid  me  Good  Morning. 

Anna  L^titia  Barbauld. 


TT  is  not  growing  Hke  a  tree 

-*•   In  bulk,  doth  make  man  better  be  ; 

Or  standing  long  an  oak,  three  hundred  year, 

To  fall  a  log  at  last,  dry,  bald,  and  sere  ! 
A  lily  of  a  day 
Is  fairer  far  in  May, 
Although  it  fall  and  die  that  night,  — 
It  was  the  plant  and  flower  of  Light. 

In  small  proportions  we  just  beauties  see  ; 

And  in  short  measures  life  may  perfect  be. 

Ben  Jonson. 


THEY   ARE    ALL   GONE. 

'T^HEY  are  all  gone  into  the  world  of  light, 

-■-       And  I  alone  sit  lingering  here  ! 

Their  very  memory  is  fair  and  bright, 

And  my  sad  thoughts  doth  clear. 

It  glows  and  ghtters  in  my  cloudy  breast, 
Like  stars  upon  some  gloomy  grove, 

Or  those  faint  beams  in  which  this  hill  is  drest 
After  the  sun's  remove. 


HEAVEN  AXD    THE  SAINTS,  177 

I  see  them  walking  in  an  air  of  glory, 

Whose  light  doth  trample  on  my  days ; 
My  days,  which  are  at  best  but  dull  and  hoary, 

Mere  glimmering  and  decays. 

O  holy  hope  !  and  high  humility  ! 

High  as  the  heavens  above  ! 
These  are  your  walks,  and  you  have  shewed  them  me 

To  kindle  my  cold  love 

Dear,  beauteous  death  ;  the  jewel  of  the  just ! 

Shining  nowhere  but  in  the  dark; 
What  mysteries  do  lie  beyond  thy  dust. 

Could  man  outlook  that  mark ! 


He  that  hath  found  some  fledged  bird's  nest  may  know 

At  first  sight  if  the  bird  be  flo\vn  ; 
But  what  fair  dell  or  grove  he  sings  in  now, 

That  is  to  him  unknown. 

And  yet,  as  angels  in  some  brighter  dreams, 

Call  to  the  soul  when  man  doth  sleep, 
So  some  strange  thoughts  transcend  our  wonted  iheme^ 

And  into  glory  peep. 

If  a  star  were  confined  into  a  tomb. 

Her  captive  flames  must  needs  burn  there; 

But  when  the  hand  that  locked  her  up  gives  room, 
She  '11  shine  through  all  the  sphere. 
12 


lyS  QUIET  HOURS. 

O  Father  of  eternal  life,  and  all 

Created  glories  under  thee  ! 
Resunae  thy  spirit  from  this  world  of  thrall 

Into  true  liberty. 

Either  disperse  these  mists,  which  blot  and  fill 

My  perspective  still  as  they  pass  ; 
Or  else  remove  me  hence  unto  that  hill 

Where  I  shall  need  no  glass. 

Henry  Vaughan 


HYMN    TO    GOD,    MY   GOD,    IN    MY 
SICKNESS. 

0  INCE  I  am  coming  to  that  holy  room, 

*^     Where  with  the  choir  of  saints  forevermore 

1  shall  be  made  Thy  music,  as  I  come 

I  tune  the  instrument  here  at  the  door, 
And  what  I  must  do  then,  think  here  before. 

John  Donne. 


FRIENDS    OF   MY   YOUTH. 

I  came  to  the  place  of  my  birth  and  cried,  "  The  friends  of  my  youth, 
where  are  they?  "  and  an  echo  answered,  '*  Where  are  they  ?  " 

T    SOUGHT  you,  friends  of  youth,  in  sun  and  shade, 
By  home  and  hearth  — but  no  !  ye  were  not  there  ; 
"  Where  are  ye  gone,  beloved  ones,  where  ?  "  I  said  ; 
I  listened,  and  an  echo  answered,  *' Where  .^ " 


HEAVEN  AND    THE  SAINTS.  I79 

Then  silence  fell  around  —  upon  a  tomb 

I  sat  me  down  dismayed  at  death,  and  wept ; 

Over  my  senses  fell  a  cloud  of  gloom, 

They  sank  before  the  mystery,  and  I  slept. 

I  slept  —  and  then  before  mine  eyes  there  pressed 
Faces  that  showed  a  bliss  unknown  before  ; 

The  loved  whom  I  in  life  had  once  possessed. 
Came  one  by  one,  till  all  were  there  once  more. 

A  light  of  nobler  worlds  was  round  their  head, 
A  glow  of  better  actions  made  them  fair ; 

"  The  dead  are  there,"  triumphantly  I  said, 
Triumphantly  the  echo  answered,  "  There  !  " 

Mrs.  Archer    Clive. 


FROM  ^' IN    MEMORIAM." 

XXXIX. 

/^^OULD  we  forget  the  widowed  hour, 
^^  And  look  on  Spirits  breathed  away, 

As  on  a  maiden  in  the  day 
When  first  she  wears  her  orange-flower  ! 

When  crowned  with  blessing  she  doth  rise 
To  take  her  latest  leave  of  home. 
And  hopes  and  light  regrets  that  come 

Make  April  of  her  tender  eyes  ; 


i8o  QUIET  HOURS, 

And  doubtful  joys  the  father  move, 
And  tears  are  on  the  mother's  face, 
As  parting,  with  a  long  embrace, 

She  enters  other  realms  of  love  ; 

Her  office  there  to  rear,  to  teach, 

Becoming,  as  is  meet  and  fit, 

A  link  among  the  days,  to  knit 
The  generations  each  with  each  ; 

And,  doubtless,  unto  thee  is  given 

A  life  that  bears  immortal  fruit, 

In  such  great  offices  as  suit 
The  full-grown  energies  of  heaven. 

Ay  me,  the  difference  I  discern  ! 
How  often  shall  her  old  fireside 
Be  cheered  with  tidings  of  the  bride  ! 

How  often  she  herself  return, 

And  tell  them  all  they  would  have  told, 
And  bring  her  babe,  and  make  her  boast, 
Till  even  those  that  missed  her  most 

Shall  count  new  things  as  dear  as  old  ! 

But  thou  and  I  have  shaken  hands. 
Till  growing  winters  lay  me  low  ; 
My  paths  are  in  the  fields  I  know, 

And  thine  in  undiscovered  lands. 

Alfred  Tennyson. 


HEAVEN  AND    THE  SAINTS.  i8l 


THE   VERDICT   OF    DEATH. 

T  TOW  does  Death  speak  of  our  beloved 
•^  -^     When  it  has  laid  them  low  ; 
When  it  has  set  its  hallowing  touch 
On  speechless  lip  and  brow  ? 

It  clothes  their  every  gift  and  grace 
With  radiance  from  the  holiest  place, 
With  light  as  from  an  angel's  face  ; 

Recalling  with  resistless  force, 
And  tracing  to  their  hidden  source 
Deeds  scarcely  noticed  in  their  course. 

This  little  loving  fond  device. 

That  daily  act  of  sacrifice, 

Of  which  too  late  we  learn  the  price  ! 

Opening  our  weeping  eyes  to  trace 
Simple,  unnoticed  kindnesses, 
Forgotten  notes  of  tenderness, 

Which  evermore  to  us  must  be 
Sacred  as  hymns  in  infancy, 
Learned  listenin^x  at  a  mother's  knee. 


l82  QUIET  HOURS. 

Thus  does  Death  speak  of  our  beloved 

When  it  has  laid  them  low  ; 
Then  let  Love  antedate  the  work  of  Death, 
And  do  this  now  ! 


How  does  Death  speak  of  our  beloved 

When  it  has  laid  them  low ; 
When  it  has  set  its  hallowing  touch 

On  speechless  lip  and  brow  ? 

It  sweeps  their  faults  with  heavy  hand, 
As  sweeps  the  sea  the  trampled  sand, 
Till  scarce  the  faintest  print  is  scanned. 

It  shows  how  such  a  vexing  deed 
Was  but  the  generous  nature's  weed, 
Or  some  choice  virtue  run  to  seed  ; 

How  that  small  fretting  fretfulness 
Was  but  love's  over-anxiousness, 
Which  had  not  been,  had  love  been  less. 

This  failing,  at  which  we  repined, 
But  the  dim  shade  of  day  declined, 
Which  should  have  made  us  doubly  kind. 

Thus  does  Death  speak  of  our  beloved 

When  it  has  laid  them  low; 
Then  let  Love  antedate  the  work  of  Death, 
And  do  this  now ! 


HEAVEN  AND    THE  SAINTS.  183 

How  does  Death  speak  of  our  beloved 

When  it  has  laid  them  low  ; 
When  it  has  set  its  hallowing  touch 

On  speechless  lip  and  brow  ? 

It  takes  each  failing  on  our  part, 
And  brands  it  in  upon  the  heart 
With  caustic  power  and  cruel  art. 

The  small  neglect  that  may  have  pained, 
A  giant  stature  will  have  gained 
When  it  can  never  be  explained ; 

The  little  service  which  had  proved 
How  tenderly  we  watched  and  loved, 
And  those  mute  lips  to  glad  smiles  moved  ; 

The  little  gift  from  out  our  store, 
Which  might  have  cheered  some  cheerless  hour, 
When  they  with  earth's  poor  needs  were  poor, 
But  never  will  be  needed  more ! 

It  shows  our  faults  like  fires  at  night  ; 
It  sweeps  their  failings  out  of  sight ; 
It  clothes  their  good  in  heavenly  light. 

O  Christ,  our  life  !  foredate  the  work  of  Death, 

And  do  this  now  ! 
Thou  who  art  love,  thus  hallow  our  beloved  ! 

Not  Death,  but  Thou ! 

Elizabeth  Charles. 


1 84  QUIET  HOURS. 


A  MEDITATION. 

*'  I  believe  in  the  Communion  of  Saints." 

AND  oh,  Beloved  ones,  my  lips  are  fain 
^  ^  To  speak  of  you  !  this  heart  of  mine  so  long 
Hath  communed  with  you,  they  may  not  refrain 
To  pay  you  honor  in  a  guileless  song ; 
I  will  not  fear  to  do  the  Master  wrong 
In  praising  you,  His  servants,  whom,  unseen, 
I  love  in  Him.     As  oft  a  stranger's  mien 
Grows  sudden  dear  through  summoning  the  face 
Of  friend  beloved,  so  have  I  joyed  to  trace 
Your  features  back  to  His,  and  in  the  tone 
Ye  use,  a  sweeter  voice  hath  still  been  known ; 
Nor  read  I  blame  within  their  ardent  eyes, 
Our  elder,  stronger  Brethren  of  the  skies, 
That  unto  me  their  names,  their  effigies 
Have  been  less  dear  than  yours,  who  did  not  move 
About  your  work  with  them,  whose  feet  of  flame 
Upon  their  Master's  errand  went  and  came 
As  in  the  lightning  flash  ;  with  footsteps  slow 
And  wearied  oft,  kind  ministers  !  je  went 
About  this  lower  House  of  His,  intent 
On  humblest  household  tasks,  and  for  the  sake 

Of  this  great  family,  with  care  opprest, 
That  it  might  fare  the  sweeter,  ye  did  wake 

Betimes,  and  watch  that  it  might  safer  rest. 
Ye  wore  not  then  the  Halo  on  your  brow, 

But  bound  on  rugged  paths  where  once  of  old 


HEAVEN  AND    THE  SAINTS.  185 

Your  Master  toiled,  where  toil  your  brethren  now, 

Ye  had  not  Angels  for  your  mates,  but  cold 
Dull  hearts  were  round  you,  that  within  your  own 
Ye  warmed,  till  oft  their  chillness  deadly  grown 
Hath  made  your  hands,  hath  made  your  bosoms  ache  ! 

Now  have  ye  reached  the  Mount  of  God  !  no  stain 
Lies  on  your  robes,  and  all  your  faces  shine 
As  shone  they  never  here,  while  yet  in  frail 
Coarse  vessels  all  your  heaven-won  treasure  lay, 
While  oft  the  light  within  would  pale  and  pine 
Because  the  lamp  that  bore  it  was  of  clay  — 
Now,  far  behind  the  shrouding  veil,  your  way 
Leads  on  from  grace  to  grace.  — 

—  And  even  thus  we  meet, 
And  even  thus  we  commune  !  spirits  freed 
And  spirits  fettered  mingle,  nor  have  need 
To  seek  a  common  atmosphere ;  the  air 
Is  meet  for  either  in  this  olden,  sweet. 
Primeval  breathing  of  Man's  spirit  —  Prayer  ! 

Dora  Greenwell. 


THE    COMMUNION    OF   SAINTS. 

■pOR  all  Thy  saints,  O  Lord, 
■*■        Who  strove  in  Thee  to  live. 
Who  followed  Thee,  obeyed,  adored 
Our  grateful  hymn  receive. 


l86  QUIET  HOURS. 

For  all  thy  saints,  O  Lord, 

Accept  our  thankful  cry, 
Who  counted  Thee  their  great  reward. 

And  strove  in  Thee  to  die. 


They  all  in  life  and  death, 

With  Thee,  their  Lord,  in  view, 

Learned  from  Thy  Holy  Spirit's  breath 
To  suffer  and  to  do. 

Thy  mystic  members  fit 

To  join  thy  saints  above 
In  one  unmixed  communion  knit, 

And  fellowship  of  love. 

For  this  Thy  name  we  bless. 

And  humbly  beg  that  we 
May  follow  them  in  holiness, 

And  live  and  die  in  Thee. 


Richard  Mant. 


THE    FAMILY    IN    HEAVEN    AND    EARTH. 

"  AU  live  in  Him." 

T    ORD  !  if  our  dwelling-place  Thou  art, 
-*-^     With  all  Thine  own  we  dwell ; 
O  never  may  those  lovers  part 
Who  love  the  Lord  full  well. 


HEAVEN  AXD    THE  SAINTS.  187 

Death  has  no  bidding  to  divide 

The  souls  that  dwell  in  Thee  : 
Yes,  all  who  in  the  Lord  abide 

Are  of  one  family. 

They  mingle  still  their  songs,  their  prayers, 

Thy  people,  Lord,  are  one, 
Thy  people  in  the  vale  of  tears, 

Thy  people  near  the  throne. 

The  souls  most  precious  to  us  here 

May  from  this  home  have  fled  ; 
But  still  we  make  one  household  dear  ; 

One  Lord  is  still  our  head. 

Midst  cherubim  and  seraphim 

They  mind  their  Lord's  affairs  ; 
O  !  if  we  bring  our  work  to  Him, 

Our  work  is  one  with  theirs. 

Thomas  Hornblower  Gill. 


THE    CLOUD    OF   WITNESSES. 

TT  THEN  the  powers  of  Hell  prevail 

^  ^       O'er  our  weakness  and  unfitness, 
Could  we  lift  the  fleshly  veil, 
Could  we  for  a  moment  witness 

Those  unnumbered  hosts  that  stand 
Calm  and  bright  on  either  hand  ; 


i88  QUIET  HOURS, 

Could  we  see,  though  far  and  faint, 

(Sight  too  great  for  eyes  unholy,) 

Face  of  some  departed  saint 

Tinged  for  us  with  melancholy  ; 

Oh,  what  strength  of  shame  and  woe 
Would  start  up  to  slay  the  foe ! 

Oh,  what  joyful  hope  would  cheer. 

Oh,  what  faith  serene  would  guide  us  ! 

Great  may  be  the  danger  near. 

Greater  are  the  friends  beside  us  ; 

Oh  !  what  reverent  heed  would  then 
Guide  our  footsteps  among  men ! 

Lord !  Thy  saints  in  evil  hour 

So  did  feel  Thine  armies  round  them, 

That  no  sin  could  overpower, 

And  no  shape  of  Death  astound  them  — 

Make  our  faith  what  theirs  hath  been  — 

Evidence  of  things  unseen. 

Anonymous. 


FLIGHT  OF  THE  SPIRIT. 

\ 
TT  THITHER,  oh  !  whither  wilt  thou  wing  thy  way  ? 

^^     What  solemn  region  first  upon  thy  sight 
Shall  break,  unveiled  for  terror  or  delight  ? 
What  hosts,  magnificent  in  dread  array, 
My  spirit !  when  thy  prison-house  of  clay 
After  long  strife  is  rent  ?     Fond,  fruitless  quest ! 
The  unfledged  bird,  within  his  narrow  nest,  ^ 


HEAVEN  AND    THE  SAINTS. 


189 


Sees  but  a  few  green  branches  o'er  him  play, 
And  through  their  parting  leaves,  by  fits  revealed, 
A  glimpse  of  summer  sky;  nor  knows  the  field 
Wherein  his  dormant  powers  must  yet  be  tried. 
Thou  art  that  bird  !  —  of  what  beyond  thee  lies 
Far  in  the  untracked,  immeasurable  skies 
Knowing  but  this  —  that  thou  shalt  find  thy  Guide ! 

§  *'%uciA  D.  Hemans 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


THE    UNFAILING   ONE. 

"  He  faileth  not."  — Zeph.  iii.  5. 

T  T  E  who  hath  led  will  lead 

-■■  -^     All  through  the  wilderness ; 

He  who  hath  fed  will  feed  ; 

He  who  hath  blessed  will  bless  ; 

He  who  hath  heard  thy  cry- 
Will  never  close  His  ear  ; 

He  who  hath  marked  thy  faintest  sigh 
Will  not  forget  thy  tear. 

He  loveth  always,  faileth  never, 

So  rest  on  Him,  to-day,  forever  ! 

Then  trust  Him  for  to-day 

As  thine  unfailing  Friend, 
And  let  Him  lead  thee  all  the  way, 

Who  loveth  to  the  end. 


MISCELLAXEOi'S.  19 1 

And  let  the  morrow  rest 

In  His  beloved  hand  ; 
His  good  is  better  than  our  best, 

As  we  shall  understand, — 
If,  trusting  Him  who  faileth  never, 
We  rest  on  Him,  to-day,  for  ever ! 

Frances  Ridley  Havergal. 


COMPELLED   TO   BEAR   THE    CROSS. 

iy  TY  Lord,  if  I  had  chosen 
^^^  And  asked  a  cross  of  Thee 
I  think  unto  its  bearing 
My  heart  would  stronger  be. 
Who  takes  his  cross  and  follows 
With  solemn  will  and  choice. 
He  feels  Thy  hand  uplifting, 
He  hears  Thy  calling  voice. 
But  my  reluctant  spirit 
It  faints  at  toil  and  pain, 
And  back  to  easy  living 
Turns  ever  and  again. 

I  think  of  the  Cyreniari 
Who  crossed  the  city  gate 
When  forth  the  stream  was  pouring 
That  bore  Thy  cruel  fate. 
From  quiet  country  places 
The  startled  man  was  caught 
By  that  fierce  human  tumult 
Where  maddest  passion  wrought. 


192  QUIET  HOURS. 

1  ponder  what  within  him 
The  thoughts  that  woke  that  day, 
As  his  unchosen  burden 
He  bore,  that  unsought  way. 

For  /,  O  Lord,  Thou  seest 
A  heavy  cross  I  bear, 
Yet  in  its  choice,  or  making, 
I  had  nor  will,  nor  share. 
The  souls  that  lived  before  me 
This  load  for  me  did  make, 
They  left  it  me  for  birthright, 
I  could  not  choose  but  take. 
This  will  toward  good  uncertain 
Yet  vehement  toward  wrong, 
These  yearnings  that  are  feeble. 
These  passions  that  are  strong — 
Low,  stubborn  facts  that  cramp  me, 
High  visions  that  are  vain,  — 
The  spirit  that  aspires. 
The  body  that 's  a  chain,  — 
This  nature  's  not  my  choosing  — 
This  cross,  I  cannot  see 
How  bearing  it  I  ever 
Can  follow  after  Thee. 

Yet,  "  Tempted  He  as  we  are  "  ! 
Oh  Lord,  was  Thy  cross  mine  t 
Am  I,  hke  Simon,  bearing 
A  burden  that  is  Thine  ? 
Thou  must  have  looked  on  Simon  — 
Turn,  Lord,  and  look  on  me 


MISCELLANEOUS.  193 

Till  I  shall  see,  I  follow 
And  bear  Thy  cross  with  Thee. 
Then  though  I  was  compelled, 
I  '11  claim  as  boon  the  woe 
Through  which  my  feet  are  learning 
The  path  where  Thou  dost  go. 

Harriet  Ware  Hall. 


FROM    "IN    MEMORIAM." 

STRONG    SON    OF    GOD. 

STRONG  Son  of  God,  immortal  Love, 
Whom  we,  that  have  not  seen  Thy  face, 
By  faith,  and  faith  alone,  embrace. 
Believing  where  we  cannot  prove  ! 

Thou  seemest  human  and  divine, 

The  highest,  holiest  manhood.  Thou  ; 
Our  wills  are  ours,  we  know  not  how  ; 

Our  wills  are  ours,  to  make  them  Thine. 

Our  little  systems  have  their  day ; 

They  have  their  day  and  cease  to  be  ; 

They  are  but  broken  lights  of  Thee, 
And  Thou,  oh  Lord,  art  more  than  they. 

We  have  but  faith  :  we  cannot  know  ; 

For  knowledge  is  of  things  we  see  ; 

And  yet  we  trust  it  comes  from  Thee, 
A  beam  in  darkness  :  let  it  grow. 
13 


194  QUIET  HOURS, 

Let  knowledge  grow  from  more  to  more, 
But  more  of  reverence  in  us  dwell ; 
That  mind  and  soul,  according  well, 

May  make  one  music,  as  before. 


XXXII. 

TTER  eyes  are  homes  of  silent  prayer, 
'*-  -*■     Nor  other  thought  her  mind  admits 

But,  he  was  dead,  and  there  he  sits, 
And  he  that  brought  him  back  is  there. 

Then  one  deep  love  doth  supersede 
All  other,  when  her  ardent  gaze 
Roves  from  the  living  brother's  face. 

And  rests  upon  the  Life  indeed. 

All  subtle  thought,  all  curious  fears, 
Borne  down  by  gladness  so  complete, 
She  bows,  she  bathes  the  Saviour's  feet 

With  costly  spikenard  and  with  tears. 

Thrice  blest  whose  lives  are  faithful  prayers. 
Whose  loves  in  higher  love  endure  ; 
What  souls  possess  themselves  so  pure. 

Or  is  there  blessedness  like  theirs  ? 


MISCELLANEOUS.  195 


XXXIII. 

r^  THOU  that  after  toil  and  storm 

^^     Mayst  seem  to  have  reached  a  purer  air, 

Whose  faith  has  centre  everywhere, 
Nor  cares  to  fix  itself  to  form, 

Leave  thou  thy  sister,  when  she  prays, 
Her  early  Heaven,  her  happy  views  ; 
Nor  thou  with  shadowed  hint  confuse 

A  life  that  leads  melodious  days. 

Her  faith  through  form  is  pure  as  thine. 
Her  hands  are  quicker  unto  good. 
O,  sacred  be  the  flesh  and  blood 

To  which  she  Hnks  a  truth  divine  ! 

See,  thou  that  countest  reason  ripe 

In  holding  by  the  law  within. 

Thou  fail  not  in  a  world  of  sin, 
And  e'en  for  want  of  such  a  type. 


XXXVI. 

T^HOUGH  truths  in  manhood  darkly  join, 
^       Deep-seated  in  our  mystic  frame, 

We  yield  all  blessing  to  the  name 
Of  Him  that  made  them  current  coin  ; 


19^  QUIET  HOURS. 

For  Wisdom  dealt  with  mortal  powers, 
Where  Truth  in  closest  words  shall  fail, 
When  Truth  embodied  in  a  tale 

Shall  enter  in  at  lowly  doors. 

And  so  the  Word  had  breath,  and  wrought 
With  human  hands  the  creed  of  creeds 
In  loveliness  of  perfect  deeds, 

More  strong  than  all  poetic  thought ; 

Which  he  may  read  that  binds  the  sheaf, 
Or  builds  the  house,  or  digs  the  grave, 
And  those  wild  eyes  that  watch  the  wave 

In  roarings  round  the  coral  reef. 

Alfred  Tenni'son. 


o 


THE    BLESSED    LIFE. 
BLESSED  hfe  !  the  heart  at  rest, 


When  all  without  tumultuous  seems ;  i 

'J 
That  trusts  a  higher  wnll,  and  deems  f 

That  higher  wnll,  not  mine,  the  best.  i 

O  blessed  life  !  the  mind  that  sees,  — 

Whatever  change  the  years  may  bring, — 
A  mercy  still  in  everything, 

And  shining  through  all  mysteries. 

O  blessed  life  !  the  soul  that  soars, 

When  sense  of  mortal  sight  is  dim, 

Beyond  the  sense  —  beyond,  to  Him 
Whose  love  unlocks  the  heavenly  doors. 


MISCELLAXEO  US.  1 9  7 

O  blessed  life  !  heart,  mind,  and  soul, 
From  self-born  aims  and  wishes  free, 
In  all  at  one  with  Deity, 

And  loyal  to  the  Lord's  control. 

O  life  !  how  blessed  !  how  divine  ! 

High  life,  the  earnest  of  a  higher  ! 

Father  !  fulfil  my  deep  desire, 
And  let  this  blessed  life  be  mine  ! 

William  Tidd  Matson,  1866. 


AFTER   STRIFE. 

npHE  Sabbath  sunshine  blessed  the  earth  to-day 
-■-       With  large,  still  utterance  of  a  thought  divine  ; 
For  ever  freely  thus  —  it  seemed  to  say  — 

Doth  heavenly  love  on  human  darkness  shine  : 
O  bright  beyond  all  suns  that  wondrous   light   of 
Thine ! 

To-night,  the  Sabbath  moonlight,  wnth  white  wings, 
Dove-like,   doth   brood   o'er   Earth's   dark,  fevered 
breast  ; 
So  God's  great  calm  its  gift  of  healing  brings 
To  souls  long  tossed  in  sorrowful  unrest. 
And  leaves  therein  the  peace  that   cannot  be  ex- 
pressed. 

Independent. 


198  QUIET  HOURS. 


AFTER   REST. 

nPHE  loving  skies  lean  softly  down  to  bless ; 
-*■       The  hills  reach  upward  for  that  mute  caress  ; 
White  calms  of  clouds  are  floating  on  their  way, 
As  winged  with  that  sweet  peace  of  yesterday. 
Sunrise  with  singing  in  the  east  is  born, 
And  the  whole  earth  is  jubilant  this  morn, 
After  the  Day  of  Rest. 

From  out  the  white  tent  of  that  blest  repose 
We  pass,  as  one  who  unto  battle  goes. 
His  head  anointed  with  a  kingly  oil ; 
And,  as  we  climb  anew  the  hills  of  toil, 
The  work-day  world,  elate  and  all  astir 
With  eager  tumults,  looketh  hopefuller 
After  the  Day  of  Rest. 

Thus  o'er  our  path  the  Sabbath  liHes  spring, 
Through  hours  of  strife  their  dewy  sweets  to  fling; 
With  bells  of  peace  to  call  our  hearts  away. 
Expectant  still  of  that  eternal  day 
When  souls  that  burn  on  tireless  wing  to  rise. 
Shall  find  all  high  and  pure  activities. 

And  weariness,  all  rest 

Independent. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  199 


THOUGHTS    IN   A   CITY   CHURCH. 

TI70RGIVE  the  fault,  if  sometimes  on  Thy  day 
-^        And  in  Thine  house,  my  prayer  hath  folded  wing  ; 
My  spirit  turned  from  Thee  to  things  of  sense, 
And  found  delight  in  vain  imagining. 

Ah,  cool  and  quiet  places  where  men  pray  ! 

Without,  the  gentle  sound  of  cawing  rooks, 
Within,  the  country  faces  flushed  with  health. 

The  white  smocks  bent  above  the  dog-eared  books  ; 

Soft  breath  of  mignonette  and  scented  thyme 
From  the  warm  hands  of  children  sitting  by, 

And  through  the  open  door  a  veil  of  elm 
Across  the  glory  of  the  summer  sky; 

The  sound  of  voices  in  the  shady  lane, 

The  trembling  heat  above  some  quiet  mound ; 

And  here  the  sunbeams'  painting  on  the  wall, 
The  ivy's  shimmering  shadow  on  the  ground ; 

And  everywhere  a  presence,  without  name, 
Subtle,  ineffable,  —  a  spell,  no  more, — 

Breathing  from  arch  and  elm,  from  flower  and  groin, 
Ay,  from  the  trodden  stones  upon  the  floor, — 

A  something  that  we  know  is  not,  to-day, 

A  something  that  gives  strength  to  prayer  and  song  ; 

And  if  we  miss  it,  as  we  kneel  to  pray. 

Art  Thou  extreme,  O  Lord,  to  mark  it  wrong  ? 


200  QUIET  HOURS, 

Nay,  for  the  desolate  town  was  never  Thine, 
Unloveliness  hath  never  part  in  Thee  ! 

Yet,  where  gross  man  has  marred  Thy  handiwork, 
Souls  that  he  could  not  reach,  are  white  and  free. 

So  that  I  breathe  the  breath  of  fragrant  lives, 
And  learn  that  where  flowers  sicken,  hearts  grow 
strong, 

The  better  man  within  me  cries,  "Content ! " 
Albeit  the  weaker  whispers  still  "  How  long  ?  " 

Spectator. 


HYMN   TO   THE   CITY. 

"^TOT  in  the  solitude 

-*-  ^      Alone  may  man  commune  with  Heaven,  or  see 

Only  in  savage  wood 
And  sunny  vale,  the  present  Deity  ; 

Or  only  hear  His  voice 
Where  the  winds  whisper  and  the  waves  rejoice. 

Even  here  do  I  behold 
Thy  steps,  Almighty  !  —  here,  amidst  the  crowd, 

Through  the  great  city  rolled, 
With  everlasting  murmur  deep  and  loud  — 

Choking  the  ways  that  wind 
'Mongst  the  proud  piles,  the  work  of  human  kind. 


MISCELLANEO  US,  201 

Thy  golden  sunshine  comes 
From  the  round  heaven,  and  on  their  dwellings  lies, 

And  lights  their  inner  homes  ; 
For  them  Thou  fill'st  with  air  the  unbounded  skies, 

And  givest  them  the  stores 
Of  ocean,  and  the  harvests  of  its  shores. 

Thy  Spirit  is  around. 
Quickening  the  restless  mass  that  sweeps  along ; 

And  this  eternal  sound  — 
Voices  and  footfalls  of  the  numberless  throng  — 

Like  the  resounding  sea, 
Or  like  the  rainy  tempest,  speaks  of  Thee. 

And  when  the  hours  of  rest 
Come,  like  a  calm  upon  the  mid-sea  brine, 

Hushing  its  billowy  breast  — 
The  quiet  of  that  moment  too  is  Thine  ; 

It  breathes  of  Him  who  keeps 
The  vast  and  helpless  city  while  it  sleeps. 

William  Cullen  Bryant. 


COMPOSED  UPON  WESTMINSTER  BRIDGE. 

"TI^  ARTH  has  not  anything  to  show  more  fair : 
-'-^   Dull  would  he  be  of  soul  who  could  pass  by 
A  sight  so  touching  in  its  majesty  : 
This  city  now  doth  like  a  garment  wear 
The  beauty  of  the  morning ;  silent,  bare, 


202  QUIET  HOURS. 

Ships,  towers,  domes,  theatres,  and  temples  lie 
Open  unto  the  fields  and  to  the  sky  ; 
All  bright  and  ghttering  in  the  smokeless  air. 
Never  did  sun  more  beautifully  steep 
In  his  first  splendor  valley,  rock,  or  hill ; 
Ne^er  saw  I,  never  felt,  a  calm  so  deep  ! 
The  river  glideth  at  his  own  sweet  will : 
Dear  God  !  the  very  houses  seem  asleep ; 
And  all  that  mighty  heart  is  lying  still  ! 

William  Wordsworth,  Sept.  3,  1802. 


A    DROP    OF    DEW. 

O  EE  how  the  orient  dew, 

^   Shed  from  the  bosom  of  the  morn 

Into  the  blowing  roses, 
(Yet  careless  of  its  mansion  new 
For  the  clear  region  where  't  was  born,) 
Round  in  itself  incloses, 
And,  in  its  little  globe's  extent 
Frames,  as  it  can,  its  native  element 

How  it  the  purple  flower  does  slight, 
Scarce  touching  where  it  lies  ; 
But,  gazing  back  upon  the  skies, 
Shines  with  a  mournful  light, 
Like  its  own  tear. 
Because  so  long  divided  from  the  sphere. 
Restless  it  rolls  and  unsecure, 

Trembhng  lest  it  grow  impure  ; 
Till  the  warm  sun  pities  its  pain. 
And  to  the  skies  exhales  it  back  again. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  203 

So  the  soul,  that  drop,  that  ray, 
Of  the  clear  fountain  of  eternal  day, 
Could  it  within  the  human  flower  be  seen, 
Remembering  still  its  former  height, 
Shuns  the  sweet  leaves  and  blossoms  green, 
And,  recollecting  its  own  light. 
Does,  in  its  pure  and  circling  thoughts,  express 
The  greater  heaven  in  a  heaven  less. 
In  how  coy  a  figure  wound, 
Every  way  it  turns  away ; 
So  the  world  excluding  round, 
Yet  receiving  in  the  day. 
Dark  beneath,  but  bright  above  ; 
Here  disdaining,  there  in  love. 
How  loose  and  easy  hence  to  go ; 
How  girt  and  ready  to  ascend ; 
Moving  but  on  a  point  below. 
It  all  about  does  upward  bend. 
Such  did  the  manna's  sacred  dew  distil. 
White  and  entire,  though  congealed  and  chill ; 
Congealed  on  earth,  but  does  dissolving  run 
Into  the  glories  of  the  almighty  Sun. 

*  Andrew  Marvei.l. 


THE   RETREAT. 

TTAPPY  those  early  days,  when  I 
-■■  -*•  Shined  in  my  angel-infancy  ! 
Before  I  understood  this  place 
Appointed  for  my  second  race, 


2  04 


QUIET  HOURS, 


Or  taught  my  soul  to  fancy  aught 
But  a  white,  celestial  thought ; 
When  yet  I  had  not  walked  above 
A  mile  or  two  from  my  first  love, 
And  looking  back,  at  that  short  space, 
Could  see  a  glimpse  of  his  bright  face ; 
When  on  some  gilded  cloud  or  flower 
My  gazing  soul  would  dwell  an  hour, 
And  in  those  weaker  glories  spy 
Some  shadows  of  eternity  ; 
Before  I  taught  my  tongue  to  wound 
My  conscience  with  a  sinful  sound, 
Or  had  the  black  art  to  dispense 
A  several  sin  to  every  sense, 
But  felt  through  all  this  fleshly  dress 
Bright  shoots  of  everlastingness. 
O  how  I  long  to  travel  back, 
And  tread  again  that  ancient  track  ! 
That  I  might  once  more  reach  that  plain 
WHiere  first  I  left  my  glorious  train  ; 
From  whence  th'  enlightened  spirit  sees 
That  shady  city  of  palm-trees. 

Henry  Vaughan. 


MISCELLANEOUS,  205 


ODE  ON  INTIMATIONS  OF  IMMORTALITY, 


FROM    RECOLLECTIONS   OF   EARLY   CHILDHOOD. 


'T^HERE  was  a  time  when  meadow,  grove,  and  stream, 
-*■     The  earth,  and  every  common  sight, 
To  me  did  seem 
Apparelled  in  celestial  light, 
The  glory  and  the  freshness  of  a  dream. 
It  is  not  now  as  it  hath  been  of  yore  ;  — 
Turn  wheresoe'er  I  may, 
By  night  or  day, 
The  things  which  I  have  seen  I  now  can  see  no  more. 


11. 

The  rainbow  comes  and  goes. 

And  lovely  is  the  rose  ; 

The  moon  doth  with  delight 
Look  round  her  when  the  heavens  are  bare; 

Waters  on  a  starry  night 

Are  beautiful  and  fair ; 
The  sunshine  is  a  glorious  birth  ; 
But  yet  I  know,  where'er  I  go, 
That  there  hath  passed  away  a  glory  from  the  earth. 


2o6  QUIET  HOURS. 


III. 

Now,  while  the  birds  thus  sing  a  joyous  song, 
And  while  the  young  lambs  bound 
As  to  the  tabor's  sound, 
To  me  alone  there  came  a  thought  of  grief : 
A  timely  utterance  gave  that  thought  relief, 

And  I  again  am  strong  : 
The  cataracts  blow  their  trumpets  from  the  steep ; 
No  more  shall  grief  of  mine  the  season  wrong; 
I  hear  the  echoes  through  the  mountains  throng  ; 
The  winds  come  to  me  from  the  fields  of  sleep, 
And  all  the  earth  is  gay ; 
Land  and  sea 
Give  themselves  up  to  jollity, 

And  with  the  heart  of  May 
Doth  every  beast  keep  holiday ;  — 
Thou  child  of  joy, 
Shout  round  me,  let  me  hear  thy  shouts,  thou  happy 
shepherd-boy ! 


IV. 

Ye  blessed  creatures,  I  have  heard  the  call 

Ye  to  each  other  make ;  I  see 
The  heavens  laugh  with  you  in  your  jubilee  ; 

My  heart  is  at  your  festival, 
My  head  hath  its  coronal, 
The  fulness  of  your  bliss,  I  feel  —  I  feel  it  all. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  2o  7 

0  evil  day  if  I  were  sullen 

While  the  Earth  herself  is  adorning 

This  sweet  May  morninc^, 
And  the  children  are  pulling 

On  every  side, 
In  a  thousand  valleys  far  and  wide, 
Fresh  flowers  ;  while  the  sun  shines  warm, 
And  the  babe  leaps  up  on  his  mother's  arm  :  — 

1  hear,  I  hear,  with  joy  I  hear  ! 
—  But  there  's  a  tree,  of  many  one, 

A  single  field  which  I  have  looked  upon, 
Both  of  them  speak  of  something  that  is  gone  ; 

The  pansy  at  my  feet 

Doth  the  same  tale  repeat  : 
Whither  is  fled  the  visionary  gleam  ? 
Where  is  it  now,  the  glory  and  the  dream  ? 


Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep  and  a  forgetting  : 
The  soul  that  rises  with  us,  our  life's  star, 
Hath  had  elsewhere  its  setting, 
And  Cometh  from  afar ; 
Not  in  entire  forgetfulness. 
And  not  in  utter  nakedness, 
But  trailing  clouds  of  glory  do  we  come 

From  God  who  is  our  home  : 
Heaven  lies  about  us  in  our  infancy; 
Shades  of  the  prison-house  begin  to  close 

Upon  the  growing  boy. 
But  he  beholds  the  light,  and  whence  it  flows 
He  sees  it  in  his  joy ; 


208  QUIET  HOURS. 

The  youth,  who  daily  farther  from  the  East 
Must  travel,  still  is  nature's  priest, 

And  by  the  vision  splendid 

Is  on  his  way  attended; 
At  length  the  man  perceives  it  die  away, 
And  fade  into  the  light  of  common  day. 


VI. 

Earth  fills  her  lap  with  pleasures  of  her  own  ; 
Yearnings  she  hath  in  her  own  natural  kind, 
And  even  with  something  of  a  mother's  mind, 
And  no  unworthy  aim, 

The  homely  nurse  doth  all  she  can 
To  make  her  foster-child,  her  inmate  man, 

Forget  the  glories  he  hath  known, 
And  that  imperial  palace  whence  he  came. 


VII. 

Behold  the  child  among  his  new-born  Hisses, 
A  six  years'  darling  of  a  pygmy  size ! 
See,  where  'mid  work  of  his  own  hand  he  lies, 
Fretted  by  sallies  of  his  mother's  kisses. 
With  light  upon  him  from  his  father's  eyes  ! 
See,  at  his  feet,  some  little  plan  or  chart, 
Some  fragment  from  his  dream  of  human  life, 
Shaped  by  himself  with  newly  learned  art ; 

A  wedding  or  a  festival, 

A  mourning  or  a  funeral. 

And  this  hath  now  his  heart. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  209 

And  unto  this  he  frames  his  song : 

Then  will  he  tit  his  tongue 
To  dialogues  of  business,  love,  or  strife; 

But  it  will  not  be  long 

Ere  this  be  thrown  aside, 

And  with  new  joy  and  pride 
The  little  actor  cons  another  part ; 
Filling  from  time  to  time  his  "humorous  stage" 
With  all  the  persons,  down  to  palsied  age, 
That  Life  brings  with  her  in  her  equipage  ; 

As  if  his  whole  vocation 

Were  endless  imitation. 


VIII. 

Thou,  whose  exterior  semblance  doth  belie 

Thy  soul's  immensity ; 
Thou  best  philosopher,  who  yet  dost  keep 
Thy  heritage  ;  thou  eye  among  the  blind. 
That,  deaf  and  silent,  read'st  the  eternal  deep, 
Haunted  forever  by  the  eternal  mind  — 

Mighty  prophet !  seer  blest ! 

On  whom  those  truths  do  rest 
Which  we  are  toiling  all  our  lives  to  find, 
In  darkness  lost,  the  darkness  of  the  grave ; 
Thou,  over  whom  thy  immortality 
Broods  like  the  day,  a  master  o'er  a  slave, 
A  presence  which  is  not  to  be  put  by ; 
Thou  little  child,  yet  glorious  in  the  might 
Of  heaven-born  freedom  on  thy  being's  height, 


2 TO  QUIET  HOURS. 

Why  with  such  earnest  pains  dost  thou  provoke 
The  years  to  bring  the  inevitable  yoke, 
Thus  bhndly  with  thy  blessedness  at  strife  ? 
Full  soon  thy  soul  shall  have  her  earthly  freight, 
And  custom  lie  upon  thee  with  a  weight, 
Heavy  as  frost,  and  deep  almost  as  Hfe ! 

IX. 

O  joy !  that  in  our  embers 

Is  something  that  doth  live, 
That  nature  yet  remembers 
What  was  so  fugitive  ! 
The  thought  of  our  past  years  in  me  doth  breed 
Perpetual  benediction  —  not,  indeed, 
For  that  which  is  most  worthy  to  be  blest ; 
Delight  and  liberty,  the  simple  creed 
Of  childhood,  whether  busy  or  at  rest, 
With  new-fledged  hope  still  fluttering  in  his  breast : 
Not  for  these  I  raise 
The  song  of  thanks  and  praise  ; 
But  for  those  obstinate  questionings 
Of  sense  and  outward  things, 
Fallings  from  us,  vanishings  ; 
Blank  misgivings  of  a  creature 
Moving  about  in  worlds  not  reahzed, 
High  instincts  before  w^hich  our  mortal  nature 
Did  tremble  like  a  guilty  thing  surprised  ; 
But  for  those  first  affections, 
Those  shadowy  recollections. 
Which,  be  they  what  they  may. 
Are  yet  the  fountain  light  of  all  our  day, 


MISCELLANEOUS,  21 1 

Are  yet  a  master  light  of  all  our  seeing; 
Uphold  us,  cherish,  and  have  power  to  make 
Our  noisy  years  seem  moments  in  the  being 
Of  the  eternal  silence:  truths  that  wake, 

To  perish  never ; 
Which  neither  listlessness,  nor  mad  endeavor, 

Nor  man  nor  boy. 
Nor  all  that  is  at  enmity  with  joy, 
Can  utterly  abolish  or  destroy ! 

Hence,  in  a  season  of  calm  weather. 

Though  inland  far  we  be. 
Our  souls  have  sight  of  that  immortal  sea 

Which  brought  us  hither, 

Can  in  a  moment  travel  thither. 
And  see  the  children  sport  upon  the  shore. 
And  hear  the  mighty  waters  rolling  evermore. 


Then  sing,  ye  birds  !  sing,  sing  a  joyous  song  ! 

And  let  the  young  lambs  bound 

As  to  the  tabor's  sound ' 
We  in  thought  will  join  your  throng, 

Ye  that  pipe  and  ye  that  play, 

Ye  that  through  your  hearts  to-day 

Feel  the  gladness  of  the  May  ! 
What  though  the  radiance  which  was  once  so  bright 
Be  now  forever  taken  from  my  sight, 

Thou2:h  nothing:  can  bring  back  the  hour 

o  o  o 

Of  splendor  in  the  grass,  of  glory  in  the  flower; 


212  QUIET  HOURS. 

We  will  grieve  not,  rather  find 
Strength  in  what  remains  behind; 
In  the  primal  sympathy 
Which,  having  been,  must  ever  be, 
In  the  soothing  thoughts  that  spring 
Out  of  human  suffering. 
In  the  faith  that  looks  through  death, 
In  years  that  bring  the  philosophic  mind. 


XI. 

And  O  ye  fountains,  meadows,  hills,  and  groves, 

Forebode  not  any  severing  of  our  loves  ! 

Yet  in  my  heart  of  hearts  I  feel  your  might; 

I  only  have  rehnquished  one  delight 

To  Hve  beneath  your  more  habitual  sway. 

I  love  the  brooks  which  down  their  channels  fret. 

Even  more  than  when  I  tripped  lightly  as  they ; 

The  innocent  brightness  of  a  new-born  day 

Is  lovely  yet ; 
The  clouds  that  gather  round  the  setting  sun 
Do  take  a  sober  coloring  from  an  eye 
That  hath  kept  watch  o'er  man's  mortality ; 
Another  race  hath  been,  and  other  palms  are  won. 
Thanks  to  the  human  heart  by  which  we  live, 
Thanks  to  its  tenderness,  its  joys,  and  fears. 
To  me  the  meanest  flower  that  blows  can  give 
Thoughts  that  do  often  lie  too  deep  for  tears. 

William  Wordsworth,  1803-1806. 


I 


INDEX   OF  AUTHORS. 


PAGB 

Alford,  Henry  (1810-1871)       168 

Anonymous 53>  70,  129,  187 

Arnold,  Matthew,  b.  1822 89,  90,  97 

Barbauld,  Mrs.  Anna  L.«titia  (1743-1825)     .    .      175 

Blake,  William  (1757-1828) 28 

Breviary 32,  36 

Bro\vning,  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Barrett  (1809-1861)  62,  149 
Bryant,  William  Cullen  (1794-1878)  .  170,  173,  200 
Burbidge,  Thomas,  b.  1817 107 

Charles,  Mrs.  Elizabeth  (Rundell)  l>.\\\w,\i\  1S26     181 

Clarke,  James  Freeman,  <^.  1810 117 

Clive,  Mrs.  Archer  (1801-1873)   .     .     .     o    .     .    .      178 

Coleridge,  Hartley  (1796-1849) 46,91,  105 

Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor  (1772-1834) 6 

(JoRNEiLLE,  Pierre        50 

Craik,  Dinah  Maria  (Mulock),  ^.  1826    ....       85 

Dessler,  Wolfgang  Christoph  (1660-1722)     .    .      150 

Donne,  John  (1573-1631) 165,178 

Dryden,  John  (1631-1700) 163 


214  INDEX  OF  AUTHORS. 

PAGE 
ElCHENDORF,   j.    F 36 

Faber,  Frederick  William  (1815-1863)  48, 109,  iii^  113, 

Flemming,  Paul  (1609-1640) 151,  159 

Gerhardt,  Paul  (1606-1676)  c 126,  144 

Gill,  Thomas  Hornhlower,  ^.  1819   .     .    .    .33,  186 

Greenwell,  Dora  (1822-1882) 136,  184 

Gregor,  Christian,  1778 143 

GuYON,  Madame  Jeanne-Marie  Bouvier  de  la 

MoTTE  (1648-1717) 126 

Havergal,  Frances  Ridley  (1836-1879)  62,  67,  76,  154, 

190 

Hall,  Harriet  Ware 191 

Hamilton,  Sir  William  Rowan  (1805-1865)  .  .  108 
Hemans,  Mrs.  Felicia  Dorothea  (1793-1835) .  .  188 
Herbert,  George  (1593-1632)  ...  45,  69,  70,  ^-j,  133 
Hunt,  Leigh  (i  784-1 859) 68 


Independent 197,  198 

Ingelow,  Jean,  b.  1825     .       40,  80,  %i,  119,  128,  131,  132 
Intelligencer,  Christian 55 

Johnson,  Mrs.  K.  H 81 

JoNsoN,  Ben  (i 574-1637) 176 

Keats,  John  (1795-1821)       ,5 

Keble,  John  (1792-1866)        ........    42,  108 

Ken,  Bp.  Thomas  {1637-1711)        34 

Kimball,  Harriet  McEwen 105 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS.  215 

PAGE 

Lange,  Joachim  (1670-1744) 75  1 

Living  Age,  Littell's 57)  i^S  I 

Lyte,  Henry  Francis  (1793-1847) 41  ! 

Macandrew,  Mrs.  Barbara  (Miller) 122  : 

Macdonald,  George,  b.  1824 78,  86  1 

Mant,  Bishop  Richard  (1776-1848) 185  \ 

Matson,  William  Tidd    (1866) 196  1 

Marvell,  Andrew  (1620-1678) 202 

Milton,  John  (1608-1674) 92,  164 

More,  Hannah  (1745-1833) 64  i 

More,  Henry  (1614-1687) 72  | 

Moultrie,  John  (i 799-1 874) 167  i 

Newman,  John  Henry,  b.  1801 79  ! 

i 

Palgrave,  Francis  Turner,  b.  1824 2  | 

Patmore,  Coventry,  b.  1823 64  1 

Pigott,  Jean  Sophia 141 

Procter,  Adelaide  Anne  (1825-1864)      ....      159  1 

i 

QuARLES,  Francis  (1592-1664) 60,  142 

Scheffler,  Johann  (Angelus  Silesius)  (1624-1677)  117, 

160,  247 

Schiller,  Friedrich  von  (1759-1805) 167  \ 

ScuDDER,  Eliza 43  | 

Shelley,  Percy  Bysshe  (1792-1822) 19      '  i 

Shipton,  Anna 56,  120 

SouTHEY,  Robert  (1774-1843) 109 

Spectator 199 


2l6  INDEX  OF  AUTHORS. 


PAGE 


Spitta,  Carl  Johann  Philipp,  b.  1801      ....        29 

Sterling,  John  (1806-1 844) 14,31 

Sutton,  Henry  Septimus,  1854 47,  49,  53 

T.  B „4 

T  ,  Henry  V 3^ 

Tennyson,  Alfred,  b.  1810  ...  17,  27,  59,  65,  179, 193 
Tersteegen,  Gerhard  (1697-1 769)  .  .  .  51,88,125 
TowNSHEND,  Chauncey  Hare  (i8oo-i868')  ...  161 
Trench,  Richard  Chenevix,  b.  1807  ....  91,  106 
Turner,  Charles  (Tennyson), 1808-1879,4,  9,  12, 13,25,27 

Vaughan,  Henry  (1621-1695),  37,  39,  141,  145,  169,  172, 

176,  203 
Very,  Jones  (1813-1880) 14,38,44,147 

Waring,  Anna  L^titia   ...      139,  148,  153,  158,  161 

Watson,  Emma  S d-i^ 

Wesley,  Charles  (1708-1788) 72,  74 

Wilson,  John  (Christopher  North)  (1785-1854)  84,  248, 

201,  205 

Williams,  Isaac  (1802-1865) 166 

Winkler,  1713 140 

Wordsworth,  William  (1770-1850)  1,3,  5,  8,  9,  lo,  11, 15, 

21,  24,  25,  (i(y,  93,  94,  146,  164,  169,  171,  201,  205 

WoTTON,  Sir  Henry  (i 568-1 639) ']2, 

Zihn,  Johann  Friedrich  (1682)   .......    156 


INDEX   OF   FIRST   LINES. 


PAGE 

Abide  with  me  !  Fast  falls  the  eventide 41 

Abou  Ben  Adhem  (may  his  tribe  increase  !)   ....  68 

About  the  knoll  the  airs  blew  fresh  and  brisk     ...  13 

A  grief  without  a  pang,  void,  dark,  and  drear      ...  6 

Ah  !  dearest  Lord  !  I  cannot  pray 1 1 1 

Ah!  dearest  Lord!  to  feel  that  Thou  art  near    .     .     .  143 

All  things  are  yours!     Yea,  Lord,  I  know  it       ...  120 

All  things  hang  on  our  possessing 129 

Alone  with  Thee,  my  God!  alone  with  Thee      .     .     .  115 

And  oh  !  Beloved  ones,  my  lips  are  fain 184 

As  precious  gums  are  not  for  lasting  fire 163 

As  the  veil  of  broidery  fine 129 

A  thing  of  beauty  is  a  joy  forever .  5 

Awake,  my  soul,  and  with  the  sun 34 

Be  not  afraid  to  pray  —  to  pray  is  right 105 

Be  useful  where  thou  livest,  that  they  may     ....  70 

Bowed  with  a  burden  none  can  weigh  save  Thee     .     .  153 

Coldly,  sadly  descends 97 

Come,  brethren,  let  us  go 88 


2l8 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES. 


Come  to  me,  Lord,  when  first  I  wake 35 

Commit  thy  way  to  God 126 

Could  we  forget  the  widowed  hour 179 

Cyriack,  this  three-years-day,  these  eyes,  though  clear  92 

Dear  Lord  !  Thou  bringest  back  the  morn     ....  33 

Dear  night !  this  world's  defeat 39 

Do  like  a  child,  and  lean,  and  rest 144 


Earth  has  not  anything  to  show  more  fair 
Emptied  of  good,  with  many  cares  oppressed 

Ere  we  retired 

Ethereal  minstrel  !  pilgrim  of  the  sky  .  .  . 
Even  as  a  nurse,  whose  child's  imperfect  pace 
Even  in  a  palace,  life  may  be  led  well  .     .     . 


201 
119 


142 
89 


Father,  before  Thy  footstool  kneeling 53 

Father!  replenish  with  Thy  grace 117 

Father  !  there  is  no  change  to  live  with  Thee     .     .     .  147 

Fever,  and  fret,  and  aimless  stir 48 

For  all  Thy  saints,  O  Lord 185 

Forgive  the  fault,  if  sometimes  on  Thy  day    ....  T99 

For  something  that  abode  endued 64 

Forth  in  Thy  name,  O  Lord,  I  go 74 

Fret  not,  poor  soul:  while  doubt  and  fear      .     .     .     .  159 

From  the  awaking  of  the  glorious  sun 122 

Full  often  as  I  rove  by  path  or  stile 12 


God  liveth  ever 156 

Go  thou  into  thy  closet ;  shut  thy  door 86 


INDEX   OF  FIRST  IINES.  219 

PAGE 

Had  this  effulgence  disappeared 21 

Happy  those  early  days,  when  I 203 

Pie  is  gone  —  is  dust 167 

Her  eyes  are  homes  of  silent  prayer 194 

He  spake  of  love,  such  love  as  spirits  feel       .     .     .     .  169 

He  who  hath  led  will  lead 190 

He  with  good  gifts  that  most  is  blest 80 

How  does  Death  speak  of  our  beloved iSi 

How  fresh,  O  Lord,  how  sweet  and  clean 133 

How  happy  is  he  born  and  taught 73 

How  oft  I  've  watched  thee  from  the  garden  croft  .     .  27 

How  peacefully  the  broad  and  golden  moon  ....  26 

How  shall  I  know  thee,  in  the  sphere  which  keeps      .  170 

How  soon  hath  Time,  the  subtle  thief  of  youth  ...  92 

Humble,  teachable,  and  mild 72 


If  I  have  sinned  in  act,  I  may  repent 46 

I  love  my  God !  but  with  no  love  of  mine 126 

I  need  not  leave  the  jostling  world 105 

Infinite  Spirit!  who  art  round  us  ever 117 

In  Heavenly  Love  abiding 139 

I  see  them  far  away 70 

I  sought  you,  friends  of  youth,  in  sun  and  shade      .     .  178 

I  thank  Thee,  Father,  that  the  night  is  near  ....  44 

I  think  we  are  too  ready  with  complaint 149 

It  is  a  beauteous  evening,  calm  and  free 9 

It  is  not  growing  like  a  tree 176 

I  was  sitting  alone  toward  the  twilight 81 

I  was  thy  neighbor  once,  thou  rugged  pile       ....  15 

Just  to  let  thy  Father  do ^ 


220  INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES. 

PAGE 

Let  me  not  deem  that  I  was  made  in  vain      ....  91 

Let  nothing  make  thee  sad  or  fretful 159 

Life!  I  know  not  what  thou  art 175 

Life,  with  yon  lambs,  like  day,  is  just  begun  ....  11 

Lo,  fainter  now  lie  spread  the  shades  of  night    ...  32 

Long  had  I  wavered  'twixt  belief  and  doubt  ....  57 

Lord,  if  our  dwelling-place  Thou  art 186 

Lord,  I  have  lain 60 

Lord  of  eternal  truth  and  might 36 

Lord,  what  a  change  within  us  one  short  hour    .     .     .  106 

Lord  !  who  art  merciful  as  well  as  just 109 

Lord,  with  what  care  hast  Thou  begirt  us  round    .     .  45 

Master,  to  do  great  work  for  Thee  my  hand  ....  62 

Methought,  that  in  a  solemn  church  I  stood  ....  78 

Milton  !  thou  shouldst  be  living  at  this  hour       ...  93 

Most  sweet  it  is,  with  unuplifted  eyes 5 

My  heart  is  fixed  on  One  above 136 

My  Lord,  if  I  had  chosen 191 

My  mind  was  ruffled  with  small  cares  to-day       ...  53 

My  soul,  there  is  a  country 169 

Not  in  the  solitude 200 

O  blessed  life  !  the  heart  at  rest 196 

O  brooding  Spirit  of  Wisdom  and  of  Love     ....  108 

O  dearer  far  than  light  and  life  are  dear 171 

O  Father,  hear 55 

O  Father !  I  have  sinned.     I  have  done 47 

O  for  the  happy  days  gone  by 109 

O  Friend  of  souls  !  'tis  well  with  me 150 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LiNES.  221 

PAGE 

O  God  of  Truth,  for  whom  alone  I  sigh 50 

O  God,  what  offering  shall  I  give 75 

O  how  the  thought  of  God  attracts 13S 

O  leave  thyself  to  God,  and  if  indeed 107 

O  Love,  who  formedst  me  to  wear 160 

Of  truth,  of  grandeur,  beauty,  love,  and  hope      ...  3 

One  gift,  my  God,  I  seek 114 

One  lesson,  Nature,  let  me  learn  of  thee 90 

Only  one  day 63 

O  silence  deep  and  strange 36 

O  thou,  that  after  toil  and  storm 195 

O  this  is  blessing,  this  is  rest 1 58 

Our  yet  unfinished  story 154 

O  what  a  load  of  struggle  and  distress 161 

O  when  my  God,  my  glory,  brings 172 


Sad  Hesper,  o'er  the  buried  sun 27 

See  how  the  orient  dew 202 

See,  what  a  lovely  shell 17 

She  dwelt  among  the  untrodden  ways 164 

She,  of  whose  soul,  if  we  may  say  't  was  gold     .     .     .  165 

She  sat  and  wept  beside  His  feet ;  the  weight    ...  46 

She  was  a  phantom  of  delight 66 

Since  I  am  coming  to  that  holy  room 178 

Since  trifles  make  the  sum  of  human  things  ....  64 

Strong  Son  of  God,  immortal  Love 193 

Such  age  how  beautiful !     O  Lady  bright 25 

Such  as  have  not  gold  to  bring  Thee Z'}^ 

Sweet  are  His  ways  who  rules  above 131 

Sweet  day,  so  cool,  so  calm,  so  bright 69 

Sweet  Morn,  from  countless  cups  of  gold 31 


2  22  INDEX  OF  FIRST  FINES, 

PAGE 

Take  my  life,  and  let  it  be 76 

Take  thine  own  way  with  me,  dear  Lord 141 

Teach  me,  my  God  and  King 77 

That  which  we  dare  invoke  to  bless 59 

The  churl  in  spirit,  howe'er"he  veil 65 

The  day  is  done,  the  weary  day  of  thought  and  toil  is 

past      ...         . 43 

The  edge  of  thought  was  blunted  by  the  stress  ...  4 

The  evening  breeze  is  blowing  from  the  lea  ....  9 

The  golden  morn  flames  up  the  eastern  sky   ....  29 

The  good — they  drop  around  us  one  by  one      .     .     .  166 

The  hand  of  Death  lay  heavy  on  her  eyes      ....  167 

The  loving  skies  lean  softly  down  to  bless      ....  198 

The  measureless  gulfs  of  air  are  full  of  Thee      .     .     .  132 

The  minutes  have  their  trusts  as  they  go  by  ...     .  38 

The  Sabbath  sunshine  blessed  the  earth  to-day  .     .     .  197 

The  sun  descending  in  the  west 28 

The  sun  is  gone,  the  long  clouds  break 40 

The  sun,  that  seemed  so  mildly  to  retire 24 

Then,  fainting  soul,  arise  and  sing 108 

There  was  a  time,  when  meadow,  grove,  and  stream  .  205 

They  are  all  gone  into  the  world  of  light 176 

This  gray,  round  world,  so  full  of  life 14 

Thou  camest  not  to  thy  place  by  accident      ....  91 

Though  truths  in  manhood  darkly  join 195 

Thou  hast  but  claimed  Thine  own  — Lord,  I  surrender  56 

Thou  hidden  love  of  God,  whose  height 51 

Thou  knowest  that  I  am  not  blest 161 

Thou  need'st  not  flutter  from  thy  half-built  nest      .     .  14 

Three  years  she  grew  in  sun  and  shower 10 

Thrice  happy  he  whose  name  is  wTit  above   ....  72 

Time  was,  I  shrank  from  what  was  right 79 


INDEX   OF  FIRST  LINES.  223 


PACK 


'T  is  gone  —  that  bright  and  orbed  blaze 42 

Two  hands  upon  the  breast 85 

Up  to  those  bright  and  gladsome  hills 141 

We  wandered  to  the  pine  forest 19 

What  are  we  set  on  earth  for  ?     Say,  to  toil  ....  62 

What  mean  these  slow  returns  of  love,  these  days  .     .  49 

When  Faith  and  Love,  which  parted  from  thee  never  164 

When  first  I  made 146 

When  first  I  saw  true  beauty,  and  Thy  joys  .     .     .     .  145 

When  first  thy  eyes  unveil,  give  thy  soul  leave  ...  37 

When  the  ardent  sun  rides  high 128 

When  the  powers  of  Hell  prevail 187 

When  the  storm  felled  our  oak,  and  thou,  fair  wold    .  13 

Where'er  I  go,  whate'er  my  task 151 

While  toil  and  warfare  urge  us  on  our  way    ....  148 

Whither,  O  whither,  wilt  thou  wing  thy  way  ....  188 

Who  is  the  happy  warrior  ?     Who  is  he 94 

Within  this  lowly  grave  a  Conqueror  lies 173 

Within!  within,  O  turn 125 

Why,  day  by  day,  this  painful  questioning      ....  168 

W^hy  dost  thou  beat  so  quick,  my  heart 113 

Why  dost  thou  talk  of  death,  laddie    . 84 

Voice  of  Nature  in  the  heart 2 

Yea,  my  spirit  fain  would  sink 140 


Cambridge  :  Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  John  Wilson  &  Son. 


Mar^  W.  Tileslon's  SeleGlions. 


Quiet    Hours.      A   Collection   of    Poems.     Square 

i6mo.     First  and  Second  Series,  each     ....  $i.oq 

The  Same.     Two  volumes  in  one.     i6mo  .     ,     .     .  1.50 

"       "          Flexible  calf 4.00 

Sursum  Corda.     Hymns  of  Comfort.     i6mo       .     .  1.25 

The  Blessed  Life.    Favorite  Hymns.     Square  i8mo  i.oo 

Classic  Heroic  Ballads.     i6mo i.oo 

Daily   Strength   for   Daily    Needs:    Selections   for 

every  day  in  the  year.     i6mo i.oo 

The  Same.     Flexible  calf  or  seal 3.50 

WISDOM    SERIES. 

Issued  in  hatidsome  pocket  volumes,    iSmo,    Flexible 
covers^  red  edges. 

Selections  from  the  Apocrypha 3  .50 

The  Wisdom  of  Jesus,  the  Son  of  Sirach  ;  or,  Eccle- 

siasticus 50 

Selections  from  the  Thoughts  of  Marcus  Aurelius 

Antoninus 50 

Selections  from  the  Imitation  of  Christ 50 

Sunshine  in  the  Soul.     First  Series .50 

The  Same.     Second  Series 50 

"        '*  Two  volumes  in  one 75 

"         "  Limp  calf  or  seal      .......     2.50 

Selections  from  Epictetus 50 

Selections  from  tlie  Life  and  Sermons  of  Tauler .     .       .50 

Selections  from  Fenelon 50 

Sociates.     The  Apology  and  Crito  of  Plato    ...       .50 
«  The  Phaedo  of  Plato  .     . 50 

WISDOM    SERIES    IN    SETS. 

The  above  in  six  volumes,  complete,  in  a  box.  This 
edition  contains  the  entire  series  as  far  as  pub- 
lished, including  "  Sunshine  in  the  Soul."  For 
the  set ^4.50 

Sold  by  all  booksellers.     Mailed^  post-paid^  on  receipt 
of  price. 


ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  Boston. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'   Publications, 


FESTIVAL  POEMS. 

A     COLLECTION    FOR     CHRISTMAS,    THE 

NEW    YEAR,   AND    EASTER, 

i6mo.     Cloth.     Price  $1.25. 


**  It  is  difficult  not  to  say  too  much,  containing  as  it  does  the  most 
beautiful  thoughts  that  men  and  women  have  ever  expressed  on  three  of 
the  most  memorable  days  of  the  year,  Christmas,  the  New  Year,  and 
^^si&ry —  Christian  Union. 

"  All  the  old  favorites  will  be  found  in  the  collection,  and  a  great 
many  other  verses  which,  though  not  so  commonly  read,  are  not  less 
enjoyable  than  those  more  familiar.  This  charming  little  anthology 
seems  to  cover  its  particular  field  thoroughly  and  most  satisfactorily."  — 
Saturday  Eve?iiiig  Gazette. 

*'  This  is  a  very  graceful  little  volume  of  well-selected  poems  from  all 
sources  suitable  to  the  seasons  of  Christmas,  New  Year,  and  Easter. 
The  selections  are  made  with  unusual  taste  and  discrimination  ;  and  there 
probably  exists  no  volume  so  happily  adapted  to  the  purposes  for  which 
it  was  compiled.  The  whole  field  of  English  poetry  has  been  culled 
from  to  gather  these  graceful  bouquets  of  spring  and  winter  flowers.  The 
selections  range  from  Shakespeare  down  even  to  the  magazine  writers  of 
the  day."  —  New  York  Graphic. 

"  This  little  book  will  serve  an  excellent  purpose.  The  want  has 
often  been  felt  of  a  collection  of  the  poems  which  cluster  around  these 
festival  days.  We  have  often  been  impressed  with  the  difficulty  of  put- 
ting the  hand  upon  such  poems,  even  when,  as  this  book  shows,  there  is 
a  large  amount  of  such  material  extant.  A  large  number  of  anonymous 
poems,  many  of  them  of  undoubted  and  some  of  traditional  merit,  have 
found  a  place  in  the  volume,  interleaved  with  poems  by  eminent  writers, 
which  have  become  classical."  —  Christian  Register. 


Sold  by  all  booksellers.      Mailed,  post-paid,   07i 
receipt  of  price,  by  the  Publishers, 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS,    BoSTOJJ 


Messrs,  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications, 


SURSUM  CORDA. 

Hymns  of  Comfort.  Compiled  by  the  Editor  of  "  Quiet 
Hours,"  "  The  Blessed  Life,"  "The  Wisdom  Series." 
i6mo,  cloth,  price  $1.25;  roan,  price  $1.50. 


"This  compilation  is  the  best  thing  of  its  kind  that  we  have  ever  seen. 
The  hymns  have  been  chosen  with  excellent  taste  and  judgment,  and 
collected  from  many  different  sources.  They  range,  as  the  compiler  tells 
us  in  the  preface,  from  the  Greek  Church  of  the  eighth  century  to  the 
present  day,  including  the  devout  lyrics  of  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth 
centuries  from  '  Lyra  Germanica,'  the  quaint  and  earnest  words  of  George 
Herbert,  and  the  glowing  utterances  of  Charles  Wesley,  Madame  Guyon, 
and  Tersteegen,  as  well  as  many  others,  ancient  and  modern.  A  pleasanter 
or  more  valuable  gift  than  this  unpretentious  little  volume  would  be  hard 
to  find." —  IVotnan's  Jourjial. 

**  This  book  may  well  attract  the  eye  of  those  who  are  looking  for 
some  neat  little  gift  to  send  to  an  invalid  friend,  and  its  bright  pages  will 
doubtless  be  found  hereafter  in  many  a  chamber  of  pain.  Healthy  and 
happy  people  also  will  do  well  to  store  up  these  lessons  of  insight,  not 
only  for  coming  days,  but  as  a  help  toward  sympathy  with  others.  The 
preparation  of  three  such  manuals  of  soul-life  as  this  and  Mrs.  Tileston's 
previous  books  is  indeed  a  gracious  and  delightful  ministry,  —  a  pur- 
veying to  humanity's  deepest  wants.  And  the  service  is  all  the  more 
welcome  because  in  all  these  books  theology  retires  to  the  background, 
and  religion  comes  to  the  front."  —  Christian  Register. 

"  *  Sursum  Corda '  is  a  collection  of  hymns,  many  of  them  familiar 
and  full  of  tender  associations,  for  all  who  need  comfort  and  strength, 
especially  for  invalids.  The  same  rare  taste  and  sound  judgment  which 
made  '  Quiet  Hours'  and  '  Sunshine  in  the  Soul  '  so  acceptable  has  pre- 
sided over  the  selection,  and  those  who  desire  to  have  their  faith  strength- 
ened, and  to  cultivate  a  spirit  of  submission  to  the  Divine  will,  cannot 
fail  to  find  cheering  and  comforting  help  in  these  beautiful  poetic  gems 
culled  from  all  ages."—  Providence  JoiirTial. 


Sold  by  all  Booksellers.     Mailed,  post-paid,  by  the  Publishers, 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,  Boston. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers   Publications. 


THE  BLESSED  LIFE. 


Favorite  Hymns  selected  by  the  Editor  of  "  Quiet  Hours," 
•*  Sursum  Corda,"  "  The  Wisdom  Series/'  i8mo,  cloth,  red 
edges.     Price  $i.oo. 

From  the  Church  Union, 

"This  is  a  collection  of  more  than  two  hundred  hymns,  all  devotional, 
most  of  them  familiar,  being  taken  from  current  hymn-books  of  various 
religious  orders,  and  wisely  discriminated.  Watts,  Wesley,  Doddridge, 
Baxter,  and  Cowper  will  live  while  the  English  tongue  is  spoken  ;  and 
when  that  has  perished,  perchance  the  spirit  which  animated  these  beau- 
tiful hymns  will  survive,  ever  increasing  in  delightful  harmony  through 
endless  ages." 

From  the  Inter-Ocean. 

"  The  author  selects  in  this  little  volume  some  of  the  favorite  hymns 
such  as  our  mothers  and  grandmothers  have  loved  and  sung,  as  well  as 
some  of  the  more  modern  favorites,  the  object  being  to  gather  these  old 
favorites  into  one  small  volume,  suitable  for  the  sick  room  or  the  quiet 
hours  of  rest.  Many  of  them  are  grand  and  beautiful,  and  the  world  will 
be  many  hundred  3'ears  older  before  the  lips  of  men  will  sing  any  songs 
breathing  more  fervent  devotion,  or  express  in  sweeter  notes  the  worship  of 
the  soul.  The  author  arranges  them  under  the  heads  :  '  Morning  and 
Evening ;  '  *  The  Glory  of  the  Lord  ;  *  '  Fervent  in  Spirit ; '  '  Serving  the 
Lord;'  *  Rejoicing  in  Hope;'  'Patient  in  Tribulation;'  'Trust  in  the 
Lord  ; '  '  The  Good  Shepherd ; '   '  Within  the  Veil,'  &c. 

From  The  Churchman. 
'**  The  Blessed  Life'  is  a  volume  of  favorite  hymns,  selected  by  the 
editor  of  'Quiet  Hours'  and  'Sursum  Corda.'  With  a  single  excep- 
tion, namely,  Whittier's  poem  of  'The  Eternal  Goodness,'  it  is  made  up 
of  selections  from  hymn-books  prepared  for  worship,  and  contains,  there- 
fore, only  such  hymns  as  have  been  pronounced  good  by  others  besides 
the  editor.  It  represents  the  best  of  those  which  have  been  judged  better 
than  ordinary," 

•— 

Sold  by  all  Booksellers.  Mailed,  post-paid,  by  the 
Publishers, 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,   Boston. 


Messrs.  Roberts  BrotJiers'  Picblicatio7is, 

TIME  PLIES:  A  Reading  Diary. 

By   CHRISTINA    G.    ROSSETn. 

i6mo.     Cloth.     Price  $i.oo. 


"  It  contains  her  own  thoughts  for  each  day  of  the  year,  sometimes  in 
verse,  sometimes  in  prose.  It  is  full  of  devotional  feeling,  expressed 
with  tenderness,  or  in  quaint  conceits  and  original  fancies.  It  contains 
many  anecdotes,  each  carrying  a  moral,  which  it  lays  down  at  the  close 
of  the  day's  thought.  There  are  flashes  of  humor  that  remind  the  reader 
of  George  Herbert,  and  there  are  exquisite  passages  that  touch  the 
heart.  Altogether  it  is  a  pleasant  and  uplifting  little  book,  not  to  read  at 
one  sitting,  but  to  taJce,  like  a  calendar,  a  good  thought  or  a  pungent 
rebuke,  a  lovely  and  earnest  poem,  or  a  significant  story,  each  day  ;  some- 
thing to  be  considered,  to  be  acted  upon,  and  to  advance  the  character  iu 
the  way  of  righteousness  and  true  piety."  —  Worcester  Spy. 

**  It  is  a  Christian  companion  and  deserves  a  place  at  every  fireside. 
Some  of  the  pages  gleam  with  gems  of  excellent  prose  and  genuine 
poetry.  The  author  has  won  '  green  laurels  and  golden  honors  '  in  the 
field  of  letters,  and  is  recognized  by  those  competent  to  judge  as  a  true 
poet."  —  Christian  hitelligencer. 

"  The  readings  are  all  religious  in  tone  and  sentiment  with  special 
appropriate  references  to  anniversaries  of  feast  days  and  noted  holy  days 
in  ecclesiastical  history.'* 

"  Some  of  the  little  poems  are  as  beautiful  in  form  and  as  pure  in 
Christian  feeling  as  any  she  ever  wrote.     Her  own  church  preferences 
do    not  make  her  work   one  that  will  be  unacceptable  to  any  sincere  . 
Christians."  —  Bulletin,  Phila. 


Sold  everywhere.      Mailed,  post-paid^  on   receipt 
of  price,  by  the  Publishers, 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS, 

Boston. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications, 

DAILY    STRENGTH     FOR 
DAILY    NEEDS. 

Selected  by  the  Editor  of  ^' Quiet  Hours." 
i6mo.     Cloth.     Price  $i.oo. 


*'  This  little  bcok  is/iiade  up  of  selections  from  Scripture,  and  verses 
of  poetry,  and  prose  selections  for  each  day  of  the  year.  We  turn  with 
confidence  to  any  selections  of  this  kind  which  Mrs.  Tileston  may  make. 
In  her  '  Quiet  Hours,'  '  Sunshine  for  the  Soul,'  '  The  Blessed  Life,'  and 
other  works,  she  has  brought  together  a  large  amount  of  rich  devotional 
material  in  a  poetic  form.  Her  present  book  does  not  disappoint  us. 
We  hail  with  satisfaction  every  contribution  to  devotional  literature 
which  shall  be  acceptable  to  liberal  Christians.  This  selection  is  made 
up  from  a  wide  range  of  autliors,  and  there  is  an  equally  wide  range  of 
topics  It  is  an  excellent  book  for  private  devotion  or  for  use  at  the 
family  altar."  —  Christian  Register. 

"  It  is  made  up  of  brief  selections  in  prose  and  verse,  with  accompa- 
nying texts  of  Scripture,  for  every  day  in  the  year,  arranged  by  the  editor 
of  *  Quiet  Hours,'  and  for  the  purpose  of '  bringing  the  reader  to  perform 
the  duties  and  to  bear  the  burdens  of  each  day  with  cheerfulness  and 
courage.'  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  the  selection  is  admirably 
made,  and  that  the  names  one  finds  scattered  through  the  volume  suggest 
the  truest  spiritual  insight  and  aspiration.  It  is  a  book  to  have  always 
on  one's  table,  and  to  make  one's  daily  companion."  —  Christian  Union. 

"They  are  the  words  of  those  wise  and  holy  men,  who,  in  all  ages, 
have  realized  the  full  beauty  of  spiritual  experience.  They  are  words  to 
comfort,  to  encourage,  to  strengthen,  and  to  uplift  into  faith  and  aspira- 
tion. It  is  pleasant  to  think  of  the  high  and  extended  moral  development 
that  were  possible,  if  such  a  book  were  generally  the  daily  companion  and 
counsellor  of  thinking  men  and  women.  Every  day  of  the  year  has  its 
appropriate  text  and  appropriate  thoughts,  all  helping  towards  the  best, 
life  of  the  reader.  Such  a  volume  needs  no  appeal  to  gain  attention  to 
it."  —  Sunday  Globe,  Boston. 


Sold  by   all  booksellers.      Mailed,   post-paid,   on 
receipt  of  price .^  by  the  Publishers, 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,  Boston. 


